


Problems

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Thorin, Erebor, Mentions of past Bilbo/Smaug, Multi, PTSD, Past Abuse, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Durin, King of Erebor, is sent on a forced holiday under a secret identity to a small village where his nephews have been living for the past few months, so he can relax and take a break. What transpires, however, when he meets his new neighbour Bilbo Baggins, is hardly relaxing and completely problematic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heart Attack

Thorin Durin, King of Erebor (although more commonly known as Duke to his friends) hadn’t even realised he’d had a heart attack when it happened. Which, he supposed, said something about his lifestyle.

He’d just ignored the tightness in his chest, continuing on with work until he collapsed when getting up to go to lunch. Then, when he’d been rushed to the hospital, he’d been more irked by the inconvenience and wasted time than he had been concerned for his own life.

He supposed that said something about him as well. Something bad, probably. But he was a busy man, he had things to do.

He _had_ tried to catch up on some of the lost time in the hospital, but he’d just received a smack on the back of his head from his sister and harsh words from his brother who’d snatched his iPad and papers from him. “Who even brought these in?” he’d demanded, furrow on his brow.

Thorin had just rolled his eyes.

When the doctor had come in and suggested gently that maybe he take some time off, Thorin had hit the roof.

_"I can’t just go.” He’d argued through clenched teeth. “I’m the King.”_

_“The way you’re going you’re going to be a dead man instead.” Dis had snorted._

_Thorin replied with a barely repressed ‘fuck off’. “I’m fine.”_

_“Bullshit. Heart attacks aside, Thorin, when was the last time you got more than three hours sleep?”_

They had been right, but Thorin hadn’t admitted it. But he’d allowed them to set up a holiday for him, a month in a country somewhere south. He’d chosen England, mainly because it was so close, but also because his nephews had taken up residence there recently and apparently loved it.

Which was how he got to standing in the motherfucking rain in front of some crappy house in some unknown village just outside of Plymouth, trying desperately to unlock the damn door, which was stubbornly refusing to give way for him.

Maybe it was just because people usually opened doors for him and he just didn’t have enough experience, or maybe it was that God hated him, but whatever it was, Thorin just couldn’t open he God damned door, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he slammed his hand into the door in anger, water dripping through his hair and don his face, clothes completely soaked. Hardly a kingly moment.

Suddenly the tirade of water above him stopped and there was a warm figure beside him. He turned to find the top of a bob of curls, he looked down then, to find the person such ridiculous hair belonged to. The smell of something lovely filled his nostrils and a soft, small hand slipped into his before taking the key.

“Here,” the man said, swiftly unlocking the door with skill that came probably from owning a similar door. The lock clicked smoothly and the door creaked open, inviting him inside the Mecca he’d been trying to get inside for at least half an hour now. He gratefully stepped inside the dark entrance, feeling for a light with one hand and unbuttoning his coat with the other.

Now that he thought about it (his mind had thankfully returned to him now that he was in a dry and relatively warm space), he should have just called Fili or Kili, but he wasn’t really in the mood to be laughed at by his nephews.

He turned in the darkness to face the man who had helped him inside. “Thanks for that,”

“Well, I was watching you for a good five minutes before deciding it was too painful to see anymore.” The man laughed, the sound like bells clanging, his hair falling in his eyes. “I had the same problem when I moved in, although it certainly wasn’t raining when I got stuck.” The man stuck his hand through the doorway. “I’m Bilbo Baggins. I live across the road,” he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder to the other house. It was lit with light, and Thorin could see through the window something that looked like a kitchen. So he’d had a pitying audience then. Wonderful.

“Duke,” he took the hand offered to him and shook it.

“Duke,” Bilbo repeated, grinning as he pulled away. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Duke; I suppose I’ll see you later.” He jumped down the three stairs that led to the path and turned to look back up at him again. “Welcome to the village.” And then he walked off, back across the road, whistling like something from Singing in the Rain.

Thorin stared out after him, bewildered, and it took him a while to realise he was just standing there like some idiot, and hadn’t even turned on the lights.

* * *

The light the next day was watery and dull at best, and the sky was still littered with grey and white splodges. Thorin glowered up at the offending clouds when he stepped out onto the sidewalk that morning on his way to meet Fili and Kili. In fact, he was too busy staring up at the boring sky that he nearly ran a man walking his dog off the sidewalk.

“Oh, dear!” They skidded to a stop mere inches from each other, and the leash got all tangled in Thorin’s legs when the beast of a dog darted about to smell him.

“Jesus,” Thorin had never liked dogs. Especially the big ones. His brother Frerin had been mauled by some monstrously large dog when they were kids, and from then on he was sporting rather brutal looking scars along his arms and chest. He didn’t complain though, said it got him the girls.

“I’m so sorry about him; he thinks everyone is a friend,” Thorin recognised the man as the one who’d helped him last night- his neighbour, _Bilbo_. “Gandalf. Gandalf, _down_.” But Gandalf wasn’t listening, instead he decided that now was the time to dart to the side and pull at the leash, which tightened right around Thorin’s legs and sent him toppling to the ground.

Bilbo chortled loudly, but had the decency to scold his dog and help untangle Thorin.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but-” he broke off into another fit of giggles. “I’m just a horrible person, you see. It’s well known within town. ‘ _Bilbo Baggins_ ’, you’ll hear them say; ‘ _he’s a bad sort_ ’. And they’ll shake their heads and click their tongues and go about their business.”

Thorin just stared at the odd man.

“You do remember me, right?” Bilbo continued as he cocked his head to the side. “Bilbo? I helped you open your door last night. Saved you from having to break it down with your bare fists, though, looking at you, I’d expect you’d be able to without much effort.”

“I remember,” Thorin assured him.

Bilbo lit up like a candle, looking pleased as punch that Thorin remembered. “Good,” he replied, “Duke, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

Bilbo helped him to his feet, though Thorin did most of the work. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your morning tasks. Gandalf and I have got things to do as well, isn’t that right?” he bent down and scratched the Greyhound’s ears, cooing at him like one would a baby. Then he straightened up again, gave a friendly smile, and wandered off down the road once more.

Thorin frowned all the way to the café he was meeting his nephews at.

“Uncle!” Kili launched himself out of the seat and at Thorin. He tried not to dwell on the fact that his back gave way slightly from the weight. In his mind he’d like to remain the young energetic and flexible man he used to be. Not a middle aged man with hair that was greying at the temples and sore limbs. The image of his father was becoming increasingly prevalent in the mirror every morning, and Thorin found it slightly disconcerting.

“How was the flight over?” Fili asked as Thorin took a seat across from the brothers. They were really quite opposite, like night and day. Where Kili as loud and eager, Fili was calm and reserved. They even looked opposite, like someone had taken the same person and copied them, just inverting the colours used. Kili’s hair and eyes were dark whereas Fili was fair and light. But they looked the same regardless, completely different but somehow still similar.

“Loud.” Thorin wasn’t used to flying with other people, and crying babies and arguing couples were something he were things he’d rather not deal with when he travelled.

“Well, welcome to the real world,” Kili threw his arms wide, “where the rest of us poor peasants live.” Fili elbowed his brother, even though there was nothing really that revealing in the sentence. “Are you all settled in?”

“Why?” Thorin asked, “Did you want to take me to IKEA?”

Kili rolled his eyes. “I’d rather not. Should we get food though? You probably would like to have something available to eat when you’re at home. You do know how to cook, don’t you? Not order someone to make something, but actually _use_ the kitchen utensils?”

Thorin just raised an eyebrow dryly, directing his best ‘I will decapitate you’ look at his nephew.

“Alright, alright!” Kili was grinning, “I was just teasing.”

“We’ll get some stuff when we’re done here.” Fili told him. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I’m starving.”

“That’s cool,” Kili replied, waving a hand casually, “they’ve got a shit load of stuff here, what do you want?”

Thorin _wanted_ to go home and clean up the mess that Frerin was no doubt making as a stand-in, but he didn’t say that out loud. Instead he just looked at the menu and resigned himself to Kili’s incessant chatter and a more or less boring break.

The dead rat nailed to Bilbo Baggins door he found when he got home, however, said differently.

“What the hell is that?” Thorin asked, pointing to the door. He was still across the narrow road that separated their houses, but he could see it clearly.

Bilbo was sitting at the bottom of his stairs, swinging his legs and humming a tune. “It’s a rat.” He said simply.

“On your door,” Thorin stated the obvious, still staring at it.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Thorin wasn’t quite sure what else to say. “Why is there a rat nailed to your door?”

Bilbo just shrugged, still smiling. “Someone’s idea of a silly joke, I suppose. Or maybe they got the house number wrong. No matter, the police are on their way.” Gandalf sat beside him, enjoying a scratch on the head from his master.

“Did you want a cup of tea?” That was the right thing to ask, wasn’t it? When something bad happened you drank tea. People always offered Thorin cups of tea when his parents had died. Like it was some sort of magical remedy for the pain. “I’ll bring it out.”

He dumped his groceries in the kitchen before making two cups of tea in the new mugs he’d bought and bringing them back out. The police had arrived by now, and had already removed the offending animal stuck to the door.

Thorin handed Bilbo a cup.

“Thanks.”

They sipped at their drinks while the pandemonium went on around them.

“I think usually (although I should make it known that I don’t have much experience with rats being nailed to doors) most people are freaking out right about now.”

“Yeah,” Bilbo sighed. “I know.”

“Alright then,” he paused, “Is it a mafia thing?”

Bilbo cocked his head to the side. “A mafia thing?” he repeated curiously.

“You know: a threat.”

Bilbo frowned, little furrows working their way between his eyebrows. “Isn’t that only in movies?”

“Being a completely law abiding citizen with no connections to the mob, I have to say I don’t actually know.”

Bilbo grinned at him in reply. “It’s not a mafia thing.” He assured Thorin. “I have no affiliations with drug lords or weapons smugglers and I most certainly do not intend on getting any connections like that anytime soon.”

“Nice to know,” Thorin replied, taking the now-empty cup from Bilbo’s hands. “I think he’s going to talk to you,” he nodded at the officer coming over. “So, I’ll just…”

“Oh, yes!” Bilbo waved him off. “Go ahead. I’ll be right.” He greeted the officer as Thorin left. 

>p>He grabbed his phone as he got back inside and listened to it ring while he dumped the cups on the counter.

“Someone dead?” Dwalin answered gruffly.

“What do you know about rats nailed to a door?” Thorin said in lieu of an actual greeting.

“That you’ve got a very interesting vermin problem.” Dwalin replied, and then paused. “Someone stuck a rat to your door?”

“Not mine. My neighbours.”

“Well,” another pause, “that’s weird. Is it an English thing?”

Thorin snorted. “I really doubt it.”

“Well…” Dwalin said now, “I can ask around, if you want. But you know, I think that’s a police’s job.”

“You can do what we pay you to do, which is look after the King.”

“Ah, but the King is in England watching people’s door being nailed with rodents.”

“The temporary ruler, then,” Thorin clarified. “How’s Frerin doing?”

“He’d be pretty pissed off if he knew you were checking up on him despite promising not to.”

“Yes, well, he can be as pissed off as he wants. Tell me if he’s destroyed the country yet or not.”

Dwalin rumbled a short laugh. “No. Dis is helping him, so I expect she’ll be able to even out any disasters that occur. How’s the holiday?”

“Well, it’s certainly not boring,” Thorin replied, leaning against the counter and looking out the kitchen window to the street. The officer was saying something to Bilbo, who looked uncharacteristically sombre. “Can you look someone up for me?”

“You want to do a background check?”

Thorin shrugged, even though Dwalin couldn’t see it. “Yeah, name’s Bilbo Baggins. There’s something odd about him.”

“Maybe that’s just sexual attraction.” Thorin rolled his eyes, and Dwalin must have known he was doing so because he continued. “No, really. You know, the best thing you can do to relax is get laid. I’m serious. You’re always so fucking wound up, and yeah, it’s a stressful job, but that doesn’t mean you can’t relax every now and again. And you’re on holiday! Live a little.”

“Such responsible advice,” Thorin muttered, “especially coming from the head of security.”

Dwalin was laughing. “I give you this advice as a long time friend and not as your bodyguard, Thorin: _go get laid_.”

“And I’m going to choose to ignore it.” When Dwalin groaned, Thorin went on. “I am. I am the King of Erebor; I can’t go round having it off with every person I meet.”

“I wasn’t asking you to screw everyone in the village, Thorin, Jesus.” Dwalin was laughing at him. “And no one knows who you are over there. One of the perks of being King of a tiny little country, I suppose.”

“Fuck off.”

Dwalin clicked his tongue. “Rude little brat you are.”

“Comes with being royalty.”

 

* * *

 

He went to see Bilbo later that night, and only because he was curious of the dead animal that had been stuck to his door. Not at all because of the man’s ridiculous hair and soft hands and kind smile, and-

No. Not at all.

“Oh,” A surprised but pleased smile had stretched across Bilbo’s face, and Thorin pointedly ignored the kick in his stomach in reaction. “Hello.”

Thorin cleared his throat twice before speaking. “I just thought I’d come and see how you were doing…”

Bilbo just shrugged, as if a rat-nailed-to-the-door situation was something that couldn’t be helped. “I’m coping.”

Thorin just frowned at him. “Alright then…” though to be honest, he wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting in the first place.

“Would you like to come in?” Bilbo offered now, nudging the door open a little further by way of invitation. “I’ve got the kettle on.”

Despite his suspicions towards the man, Thorin found himself saying yes nonetheless and stepping inside with a curious gaze.

The walls were lined with pictures. Photos of long-dead relatives, newer photos of people he could only assume were still living, even a few absolutely dreadful paintings. Thorin had paused to look at one disdainfully and Bilbo came to a stop beside him, smiling at it fondly. “My father liked to paint a lot before he died,” he simply said. And Thorin felt like a complete and utter douche. He always did that. The judgemental thing in his head, not bothering to think that maybe there was a perfectly good reason for something that seemed odd, or silly.

“Sorry,” he apologised.

“Oh, everyone always says that.” Bilbo said now, still smiling at the picture. Obviously he didn’t get that Thorin wasn’t actually apologising for the loss of his parent (which he probably should have anyway) but for his dickish assumption. “It’s been a long time. I don’t feel the sadness so much anymore.”

Thorin wished he could say the same about _his_ parents. Sometimes he still woke in a cold sweat, shooting up in bed with a racing heart and blood rushing in his ears. He’d look down at himself quickly, as if he’d see the blood that had been there when he was a child on himself once again. Then he’d shake his head, press his hands t his face, and try to push it out of his mind.

“Duke?” he’d been so lost in his reverie that he hadn’t heard what Bilbo was saying.

“Yes? What?”

Bilbo gave a smile before clicking his tongue. “Now, now. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to say ‘what?’ like that?” He continued down the hall, gesturing for Thorin to follow. Thorin supposed that he was right in that, even if he was teasing. After all, royalty didn’t just snap ‘what?’ at people. It was the first thing he’d been taught as a child.

He just shrugged now, thinking that it could be excused as a part of his façade. After all, no one would expect the man without manners to be a King, would they?

Bilbo’s kitchen was homey and cosy in ways that Thorin’s was certainly not. It was crammed with all sorts of bobs and bits and knit-knacks and bric-a-brac. There were some badly looked after cookbooks stacked on the counter, a row of teapots, stacks of cups, small wheels of cheese set atop each other on top of a cheese board. The stove was red and beaten, covered with scrapes and dings. There was a small heater rattling in the corner. Thorin thought of his own kitchen, much the same in shape and size, but completely different.

It was kind of nice.

“I know, I know,” Bilbo was waving his hands around, clearing books and papers and empty cups off of the counter. “It’s a mess.”

“Is that a map?” Thorin wondered, snatching a long sheet of paper out of Bilbo’s hands.

“Now _that_ is just rude,” Bilbo declared, though there was no actual heat to the words, taking the map back. “And yes, if you’re so keen on knowing. It is.” He set it down on the empty part of the counter. “Would you like something to eat? I made some bread this morning. It’s not warm anymore, of course, but it’s still fresh. I made gingerbread cookies as well, yesterday, though unfortunately I did eat over half of those myself,” he gave his stomach a pat, making a pained face now. “Not my smartest decision ever, I’ll tell you.”

Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo went on.

“I’ve also got carrot cake, which is nonsense. I only make it for visitors. Who wants cake with _carrot_ in it? It seems so odd to me. If you want cake, you go all out, don’t you? With chocolate and icing and all sorts of candies. But _carrot cake_?” he made a noise of disgust. “Who ever heard of a healthy cake?” he waved his hand in the air, grabbing two mugs and setting about making the tea. “If you like carrot cake, I do apologise. But _really_!” he stomped his foot. “Such an odd thing. But I’ve got scones and cupcakes as well, but those aren’t homemade. I do get lazy sometimes, you know.”

“I’m fine.” Thorin insisted before he could go any further. After all, it was his duty to make sure the poor fellow didn’t drop dead from lack of oxygen, wasn’t it? “I’ve already had dinner.”

“Oh, well ,that’s alright then. I suppose night-time foods would have been more appropriate to offer anyway.” He continued belatedly. “But I digress.” He swung around, almost sloshing tea down hi jumper. “A nice cup of char for you.”

Thorin gratefully accepted the cup, though he usually didn’t drink tea after midday. By the looks of Bilbo, Thorin mused that maybe he should offer that advice to his neighbour. The lines around his eyes were heavy and dark, and Thorin could only assume he hadn’t slept very well these past few days. He said as much, though it was a much more polite version than his thoughts. Just a simple: _“You look rather tired”._

“Ah,” Bilbo grinned sheepishly, “I’m more of a Night Owl, I suppose. Late nights and early mornings. I don’t really like being out during midday. It feels so dull to me.”

Thorin wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so instead he just took a sip of his tea.

“So, uh, are the police worried about the whole thing?”

“Maybe. I mean, they’ll look into it, of course,” he laughed now, “it would be a bit odd for them to ignore it completely. But there’s not much they can really do. Maybe arrest him for vandalism, but…” he ended with a shrug.

“Him?” Thorin asked, frowning.

“Well, I suppose that’s a bit assumptive.” Bilbo grinned. “It could be a ‘her’. Or a ‘them’. Or even an ‘it’, if you want to go really out there.” He laughed.

“You’re reacting very calmly to this.”

“Well, if I broke down I’d just waste time, wouldn’t I?” Bilbo asked him. “After all, I’ve got lots of things to do in my day; I don’t intend to waste any precious time whimpering about some idiot who thought it’d be cool to pull some sick kind of prank.”

Well… that was understandable. Freakishly logical, but understandable. “Fair enough.”

“So,” Bilbo set his cup down with a _clack_ , “tell me about you, newest member of the village. Where are you from?”

“Uh… Erebor.”

“Oh, really?” Bilbo beamed. “There are two boys from there who live here, too! Fili and-”

“Kili,” Thorin finished. “Yes, they’re my nephews.”

“Oh, now nice! I’m sorry to say they didn’t mention you.”

“I don’t see them very often, I’m used to working a lot, and… you know how it gets.”

Bilbo just shrugged. “So… you’re taking a break?”

“A forced one, yes,” Thorin returned, grim.

“Forced?” he looked confused.

The words came out casually, like they weren’t serious. “I had a heart attack.”

“Oh,” a pause, “my.” His eyes widened and his smile faded as he did a double-take, no doubt studying in Thorin’s grey streaks and tired eyes in a different way now.

“My family decided they’d take over… er,” For the life of him he couldn’t remember the lie they’d decided on before he left, “the company,” he recalled eventually, “and I could have a nice break to relieve stress.”

“Well, that sounds nice.” Bilbo cocked his head to the side, looking like he was enjoying some sort of private joke. “You don’t like holidays?”

“No.” Was the simple and terse reply.

“Ah.” Bilbo wrinkled his nose. “That’s a bit weird.”

Thorin snorted. “I’ve been told that.”

The smile returned to Bilbo’s face. “I suppose you like to keep busy though.”

“Something like that.”

“So what are Fili and Kili’s parents like?” he wondered now. “I’ve always been curious about that.”

“They’re alright.”

Bilbo snorted on his tea. “That’s it? Really?”

“Well… they’re nice. Overbearing sometimes, well, actually, that’s just Dis. Westley is fine. Reasonable. Dis fights me tooth and nail about everything.”

Bilbo was watching him with an enraptured gaze and a smile, chin propped up on his hand, so he supposed that was a sign for him to continue.

“She’s much better than Frerin though, my other brother. He’s never been good at handling big situations, and I was kind of worried that he was going to be in charge, but he’s responsible enough… well, when he wants to be anyway, and Dis is there to pull him in line. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dis is doing all the work and Frerin is just lounging about on the throne.” He choked after realising what he just said, but Bilbo only laughed.

“King of the family, then, eh?”

 _Thank God for that_. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Who else is there?” Bilbo wanted to know.

“Oh, well, there’s Dwalin, though he’s not family. He just… works for us.”

“What does he do?”

“…Security.” Which wasn’t actually a lie. “He, uh, he’s a pain in the arse, too, actually. Always on my back about not living a normal life. Well, as normal as it can be,” he added a little dryly. “Says I should have fun more.”

“Well, that’s kind of good advice.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Then, I suppose, there’s Bombur.”

“And what does he do?”

“He’s a caterer, I suppose you could say.”

“So you run a catering company?”

“Uh…” he scratched his head, “not exactly.” But Bilbo seemed to let it drop. “Bombur’s quite nice. Always going on that we’re all too thin,” he laughed now. “Everyone’s too thin compared to Bombur. He’s got the biggest moustache I’ve ever seen.”

“And you aren’t worried that it’ll get in the food?” Bilbo looked genuinely concerned.

Thorin burst into laughter. “I bloody hope not, else I’ll have some weird ginger hairball in my stomach.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. “Well, that’s… gross.”

“Did you want to hear about Balin?” he offered, thinking about Dwalin’s sage-like older brother, so different that you’d never know they were brothers unless they told you.

“Oh, yes. Anything to take my mind off of tangles of hair in stomachs.”

So he went on, and suddenly it was well past midnight and Bilbo was yawning and dozing off slightly, and he decided that if he wanted sleep he’d better go and get some now, lest he be cranky in the morning.

He stumbled out the door, much like a drunk would out of a pub, and managed to keep his footing down the stairs and across the road to his own home. He turned when he tripped up the stairs and landed gracelessly against the door, finding Bilbo very clearly holding back laughter as he waved goodbye before shutting the door.

After fighting his way inside, he collapsed onto the sofa in the living room, too tired to go upstairs or take his shoes off, and was asleep as soon as his face hit the cushions.

Fili and Kili found him like that in the morning.

“Now that is hardly kingly-” Fili began.

“-but completely like you.” Kili finished.

Thorin just groaned. “Fuck off.”

Kili faked hurt, inhaling sharply and pressing a hand to his chest.

“My, my,” Fili clicked his tongue, “you’ll fit right in here with that attitude.”

He rolled further into the sofa, pressing his face against the cushions. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

He sat up now. “Are you kidding me? You came round to wave me up at seven in the goddamn _morning_?”

They both just shrugged.

“What were you up to last night anyway?” Kili wondered, gesturing for Fili to go into the kitchen to make something that’d wake him up. “I can’t tell if you look hung over or not.”

“Because you always look like shit,” Fili announced from the kitchen.

Thorin frowned into the cushions again. “No alcohol was involved. Only caffeine.”

“Caffeine in the sense of ‘I had too much and couldn’t sleep,” Kili wondered. “Or caffeine in the sense of ‘oh, come in for a _coffee_ , which ends up not being coffee at all, but a lot of sex on various flat surfaces'?”

“Jesus Christ,” Thorin sat up again, running a hand over his face before pushing his hair back. Kili was grinning. “You two are incorrigible.”

“That we are,” Fili came back into the living room now, coffee in hand. “It runs in the family.”

They both sat on the coffee table, watching Thorin expectantly while he sipped at his coffee.

“What?” he demanded, voice flat.

Kili kept his face innocent. “So, who were you having _caffeine_ with?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Bilbo. The guy across the road.”

“Oh, Bilbo!” They both looked absolutely _delighted_ by this new information.

“Bilbo’s great.” Fili cooed.

“We love Bilbo,” added Kili.

“He makes the best pies.”

“Everybody loves Bilbo-”

“Okay, okay,” Thorin put a hand up to stop the tirade of compliments. “I get it. Bilbo’s great, we all love Bilbo, whatever.”

Kili looked thrilled. “ _We_?”  He demanded, seemingly elated with the slip of tongue.

Thorin groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Of course he didn’t. He’d just fucking _met_ the man.

Then again, he _had_ been taking to him after midnight and barely noticed the time pass.

But, Christ, that didn’t mean he was in _love_ with him.

Besides, Bilbo was a suspicious character. No one reacted to a rodent stuck to their door with a smile, a shrug and an ‘ _oh well_ ’. It wasn’t normal.

He rubbed his eyes. “What are you two doing here anyway?”

His nephews shared a grin. “We’re taking you to IKEA.”

“Like hell you are.”

 

* * *

 

“What about this one? It’s nice.”

“It’s a dishcloth, Kili. I don’t care if it’s nice or not, so long as it does the job.”

Kili heaved a sigh. “It’s not a nice experience, you know,” he said now. “Shopping with you.”

“Good. Maybe next time you’ll think before doing it again,” Thorin groused in reply.

“Oh, leave him alone, sour puss.” Fili said, stuffing some vague, oddly shaped thing (God knows what) into the big yellow bag they’d made him get at the front of the store.

“How much is this going to cost me?” he wondered now, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, please, like you don’t have anything to spend.”

“Well, I don’t need to spend the family fortune on crappy furniture from IKEA, do I?”

Fili just heaved a sigh. “You don’t buy _anything_ ; it’s one of the reasons why the family isn’t bankrupt.”

“If Uncle Frerin were in charge we’d be bankrupt,” Kili agreed, nodding solemnly.

Thorin laughed at that before trying to fish his buzzing phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Dwalin,” came the gruff reply, “finished with that background search, and you’ll never believe this.”

Thorin felt strangely anxious. “What is it?”

“Your weird neighbour was a member of AZOG.”

 _What_? “What.”

“That’s what I thought. He was with ‘em for a year before testifying against Smaug and sending him to jail after he tried to bomb that politicians house, you remember?”

“Of course I do.” AZOG was well known for targeting the richer, more powerful families throughout Europe. It had been suspected for a long time that they’d been the organisation responsible for the assassination of Thorin’s parents. Activists for Zero Occupational Governments. “Fucking extremists.”

“I know. But it seems your Baggins friend did a lot to ensure that Smaug got as much time as he did. He was pivotal in the case, if he hadn’t testified, Smaug would have walked.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Do you think he joined of his own will, or just got caught up with the wrong people?”

“No clue. But the rat on the door is kind of an obvious threat.”

The police _must_ already know about this, surely they did. Thorin wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, could he? Not without having to explain that he did a background check, and then having to explain further as to how he could even have that kind of sway with someone to _do_ a background check.  He couldn’t just simply say ‘ _yes, well, I’m actually King of Erebor, and I want to know if you’re involvement in the organisation that murdered my parents was only small or something bigger and more insidious_ ’. Bilbo just didn’t seem like the kind of extremist guy who’d believe that blowing up a house full of people or shooting two royals in the head was the _right_ thing to do. But he could be wrong.

He didn’t make a habit of trusting people blindly, and he wasn’t about to start.

“I’d better go- but I can send you the file on him, if you’d like.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll let you get back to your proper job now. I’m assuming the lack of panic in your voice means the place has not fallen apart as of yet?”

Dwalin snorted. “No, we’re keepin’ it together. Try not to get yourself into any trouble,” was his parting warning.

Thorin sighed as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. That was going to be a problem.

 

 


	2. The Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to take my time with this one, mainly because I don't want to rush and make it dreadful, as well as the fact that a few people have been rather rude lately, which has made me quite cranky as well. Nevertheless, a lot of you have been so nice, commenting and leaving kudos on this story and others as well, so thank you!  
> Also, If you do see Bilbo referring to Thorin as Thorin rather than Duke in this chapter, please tell me. I went through and did my best to make sure, but I'm not certain if all the errors are gone!

He’d been stuck outside the house for at least ten minutes, Bilbo was sure. He’d been standing in his kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea and peering out the window, watching the rain and the man who was very clearly cursing at his predicament. He’d arrived not all that long ago, just as Bilbo’s kettle was whistling, and had proceeded to fiddle with the key and the lock on his door, seemingly getter more and more annoyed as time passed. He’d been debating for the past few minutes whether or not to go outside and help the man, and to be honest, it was only a morbid sense of entertainment that he didn’t go sooner. But that was a thought for later. Right now, however, Bilbo made a face as the rain came down heavier and set down his cup, deciding to go and lend a hand finally. No doubt the poor man was having a terrible go of it so far.

The rain splattered against his umbrella hollowly, little thumps and flicks from fat droplets as he crossed the road.

A litany of curses caught his ears as he climbed the set of stairs that led to the front door. The poor thing was completely soaked through, and hitting his head against the door in anger. Repressing a small laugh, Bilbo lifted the umbrella over the man’s head and cleared his throat quietly. Though he supposed it must have been lost under the tirade of the storm, because the man just looked up, surprised that the rain had stopped, before turning his gaze on Bilbo.

And _damn it_ , unexpected hotness alert.

He reached out swiftly and snatched the keys, wondering if that seemed rude. “Here,” he pushed past (not at all as an excuse to brush against the man’s body, _really_ , why would you even think that?) and stuck the key in the rickety lock.

The man all but dived inside, looking quite relieved. Though Bilbo would be, too. He was completely drenched, from head to toe. His hair was dripping; his face was flushed and wet, his jacket looked completely soaked through, and his shoes squeaked when he walked. Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the thought of wet socks.

“Thanks for that,”

Well, _well_. It seemed Attractive Neighbour had an attractive voice to match.

Bilbo found himself speaking before thinking.  “Well,” he gave a shrug, “I was watching you for a good five minutes before deciding it was too painful to see anymore.” _God, why did he say that_? Ori always told him he had no verbal filter. He laughed at the thought, remembering more than a few times where his mouth had gotten him into trouble. Funny that he could laugh about that now, though. He hadn’t laughed when Smaug had slashed his chest the night he agreed to rat on him. Somehow he’d found out not hours after he’d agreed to testify. _“You and that stupid mouth,” he’d snarled, and all Bilbo had thought, strangely enough, as the blood blossomed through his shirt, was: ‘How inconvenient’._ He supposed Smaug hadn’t expected him to live, and the doctors had said it was nothing short of a miracle that he _had_ lived. And he testified anyway, making clear eye contact with Smaug while he spoke, as if to say: _Me and my stupid mouth are going to land your arse in jail for an eternity._

“I had the same problem when I moved in,” he said now, smiling at the man still. A smile was a disarming thing, a misleading thing. No one suspected the man who smiled. “Although, it certainly wasn’t raining when I got stuck.” And even if it had, he would have had an umbrella, like he always did. “I’m Bilbo Baggins,” he introduced himself now, offering his hand. “I live across the road.” _And I am totally not a stalker._

“Duke,” came the gruff reply. A warm, calloused hand slipped into his own, and Bilbo watched as the man, _Duke_ , gave a nod just as curt and short as his introduction.

He supposed he looked like a Duke. He had a regal sort of air about him. Not pompous, or- maybe, okay, a _little_ pompous, actually. Not a snobby sort of pompous, but an educated, swanky pomp that most high-class people didn’t realise they had. Bilbo felt his grin widen. “Duke. Well, it’ nice to meet you, Duke,” he backed away now, thought of a rapidly cooling half-finished tea on his counter. “I suppose I’ll see you later.” He jumped down the stairs, like he liked to do when he left his own house, and turned halfway across the road. “Welcome to the village.” He added, giving a quick wave. He jogged back to his own house and went inside, shaking the umbrella off on the doorstep to get rid of most of the rain.

Gandalf whined from the living room, peering over the back of the couch to look at Bilbo while he dumped his things unceremoniously on the rack in the hall.

“Oh, hush you.” He informed the dog. “You trail more water through the house than I do when it rains anyway.”

Gandalf just huffed what seemed like a sigh, before returning to his previous position, head resting on his paws.

“ _But_ ,” he continued as he went into the kitchen, grabbing his almost-cold tea and bringing it into the living room. “On the brighter side, our new neighbour is _very_ nice to look at.”

Gandalf just looked at him, one ear perked up.

“Well, maybe not for you. Unfortunately there is no nice dog with him.”  Gandalf looked slightly disappointed at that. “But at least there’s something for me.” He settled down on the ground, leaning against the sofa, and scratched behind Gandalf’s ears. “That’s all, though, I suppose,” he surmised glumly. “Just something to ogle from afar. We both know from the last time I got involved with someone that is just did not go well.” He had the scars to prove it. “Remind me never to hook up with the leader of a terrorist organisation ever again.” Smaug had been so intoxicating and hypnotising, and then things had just spiralled downward so quickly.

He exhaled loudly. “Well, that is what it is, right Gandalf?”

Gandalf just huffed again, blowing air through his nose, and pressed his head into Bilbo’s palm.

“I’ll take you for a walk tomorrow,” he declared, finishing the last of his tea. “We’ll go and see Ori.”

* * *

“Alright, let’s get going!” he clacked the leash against the wall, catching Gandalf’s attention. “Come on, come on!”

Gandalf darted down the stairs and came to a stop in front of Bilbo, obediently sitting back on his haunches and proudly displaying his neck so Bilbo could attach the leash.

“Good boy,” he gave him a pat before opening the door and letting the dog all but drag him down the stairs. “Gandalf!” he laughed, feeling himself yanked forwards. “Just wait! We’ll get there just fine in our own time, not everything has to be rushed, oh-!” He was all but pulled right into another body, only just managing to rein in Gandalf enough to stop any damage from being down. “Oh dear,” he opened his mouth to say more, but Gandalf was moving again, running round and round Duke’s legs, wrapping the leash around his calves and ankles.

“Jesus!”

“I’m so sorry about him,” Bilbo said now, trying to untangle him whilst yanking at Gandalf’s lead to get him to stop moving. “He thinks everyone is a friend- Gandalf, Gandalf, _down_.” Ordering the creature was useless and in vain, Bilbo knew, but it would be worse if he just did nothing. He couldn’t _not_ find it all amusing, though, could he? It was like that scene right out of 101 Dalmatians, and then Gandalf was trying to dart about again, and Duke tripped and fell, and it was all so funny, Bilbo just couldn’t help himself.

He burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he pressed his hand to his mouth, but just laughed through his fingers, “I shouldn’t laugh, but- I’m just a horrible person, you see,” not even a lie. “It’s well known within town,” he continued now, pointing a stern finger at nothing in particular, “‘ _Bilbo Baggins_ ’, you’ll hear them say; ‘ _he’s a bad sort_ ’. And they’ll shake their heads and click their tongues and go about their business.” His amusement was not shared, though, evidently, because Duke was simply looking up at him with a glower. “You do remember me, right? Bilbo?” he pressed a hand to his chest. “I helped you open your door last night.” _And then gossiped about you to my dog…_ “Saved you from having to break it down with your bare fists, though, looking at you, I’d expect you’d be able to without much effort.” Well, _that_ was just short of flirtatious behaviour. Although Duke didn’t seem to notice it.

Duke gave a nod. “I remember.”

 “Good,” Bilbo replied. “It’s Duke, isn’t it?”

Another nod. “That’s right.”

A man of many words, then, it seemed.

 “Well,” he offered a hand, and then two, helping the man to his feet and- _God_ , was he heavy. “I’ll let you get back to your morning tasks. Gandalf and I,” he jostled Gandalf at his side, “have got things to do as well, isn’t that right?”

Duke offered no reply, so Bilbo had simply smiled and left, on his way to Ori.

“Gandalf!” Ori grinned after throwing the door open. “How nice of you to visit. And I see you bought your pet.” He glanced up at Bilbo as he spoke. “Took him for a walk, it seems. How nice.”

“Oh, hush now.” Bilbo smacked his arm playfully before following him inside. “Although I will admit most of the time it feels like _he_ has _me_ well trained rather than the other way ‘round.”

“Cake?”

“Yes, please.” Just what he needed. “You always make such nice cake.”

“The secret is love. And the fact that I steal the recipes from celebrity chefs.”

Bilbo snorted, unsnapping Gandalf’s leash and letting him loose to terrorise Ori’s poor vegetables in the backyard.

Ori had his hands on his hips. “Now that was just mean.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I might consider reining him in again after a piece of chocolate cake. A very large piece, of course.”

“This way,” Ori sighed, rolling his eyes and leading the way to the kitchen.

The cake was very good, as always, and because Bilbo was such a glutton, he had four slices and then half of a shortbread biscuit before he had to stop because of his severely distended stomach.

“You’ll make me dreadfully fat by the end of the year.” He announced, patting his belly.

“Well, we’re both competing for the men in this town; I have to do _something_ to sabotage you, even if it is just for the farmer with the fat hands.”

“Speaking of,” Bilbo shifted comfortably in his chair.

“Of men with fat hands?” Ori wondered, frowning.

“Of the men in this town,” he clarified, “we have a new one.”

“Oh?” Ori wondered.

“Oh,” Bilbo answered. “And he is far better than the fat handed farmer.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ori looked positively _excited_. “And how did you meet him?”

“He moved in across from me. He couldn’t open his door, so I had to do it for him.”

Ori thought about that for a moment before speaking. “That sounds like the start of a rom-com. Like The Holiday. You’re Cameron Diaz and he’s Jude Law.”

“Can’t I be Jude Law?” Bilbo asked with a pout.

“Sweetheart, I hate to tell you, but you are certainly not Jude Law in this situation.”

“I hated The Holiday.” Bilbo mused morosely. Ori just laughed.

After a little while longer and a lot more teasing, Bilbo finally left Ori to finish his book in peace. “No doubt you’ll have to re-plant all your vegetables again, so I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”

“I should charge you for damages each time you visit,” Ori sighed wistfully, showing them out. “Maybe next time.” He bent down and tugged at Gandalf’s ear. “Keep an eye on him, will you? And give me the low down on the new guy when I see you next.”

Gandalf barked an affirmation, and Ori grinned happily. “One of the days he’ll be replying in English, and then I’ll have one hell of a fright.”

Gandalf was a lot more complacent on the walk back home, which Bilbo was thankful for, and there were no more accidents with attractive neighbours (he tried not to be too disappointed about that).

He turned onto his street, muttering to himself about how he should have stopped and gotten tea bags on his way home, and had been staring at the sky, wondering if it would open up and pour down again today, so he hadn’t seen it at first. He’d gotten all the way up his stairs and had gotten his key out before it had finally caught his eye.

But when it did catch his eye, he came to a halt, dread pooling in his stomach. “Oh, no.”

There was a dead rat nailed to his door.

“Not again,” he wailed.

He had Inspector Elrond’s number on speed dial.

“Elrond here.”

“It’s Bilbo. You know how you said I should call you if what happened in Manchester happened here? Well, it did, so I’m calling you.”

There was a shuffling on the other line, like Elrond was dropping papers. “We’ll be right over. Do _not_ touch anything.”

“I know how this goes.” But the reply was spoken to dead air, because Elrond had already hung up. So instead he just sat on the bottom of the stairs, frowning at nothing in particular.

“I _like_ it here,” he sighed, looking down at Gandalf. “Don’t you?” of course there was no reply, but he continued on anyway. “I can’t leave again. I don’t want to.” He huffed. “No. No it won’t do. They can threaten me all they want I am not going to be bullied out of another town.” He crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. “After all, they wouldn’t come near me with you around, would they?” he leaned down at rubbed Gandalf’s muzzle. “Would they?”

“What the hell is that?” Bilbo looked up to find Duke standing across the road, eyeing the door suspiciously.

Bilbo found himself shrugging. “It’s a rat.”

 “On your door.”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” A slight pause. “Why is there a rat nailed to your door?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure what to say, and there was this strange second or two where he felt like blurting the truth, just so _someone_ could know and maybe help. But then the moment passed and the lies were rolling off his tongue again, his mouth on autopilot. “Someone’s idea of a silly joke, I suppose,” was his reply, “or maybe they got the house number wrong. No matter, the police are on their way.”

Duke glanced down at Gandalf, and then back to Bilbo before letting his eyes settle on the door again. Then, suddenly: “Did you want a cup of tea? I’ll bring it out.”

Bilbo managed a small nod, and Duke disappeared into his house.

Elrond arrived soon after.

“Someone take pictures and look for prints quickly so we can get that thing off the door.” Was the first thing out of his mouth. Then, he knelt beside Bilbo, pressing a warm hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Bilbo lied, the smile still in place. “Just fine.”

Elrond seemed hardly convinced, though he knew the whole story, so it was normal for him to not believe him. After all, the whole situation was pretty fucked anyway.

“Stay here, I’ll ask you some questions later, okay?”

Bilbo nodded, and Elrond rose swiftly and climbed the stairs, movements graceful and fluid, as always. He quickly decided to move to the pathway to get out of everyone’s way.

Duke came back out a few minutes later, coming to a stop beside Bilbo, offering a hot mug.

 “Thanks.” It was nice just to have something to hold and occupy himself, even if it was just physically.

“I think usually,” Duke began eventually, “although I should make it known that I don’t have much experience with rats being nailed to doors,” he added quickly, “most people are freaking out right about now.”

Bilbo found himself heaving a sigh. “Yeah,” he replied glumly. “I know.”

Duke just shrugged, not bothering to prod any further. “Is it a mafia thing?” _Well_ , maybe not then.

Amusement washed through him. “A mafia thing?”

“You know,” Duke told him, “a threat.”

It was a threat, of course. It was Smaug’s men sending a message, though they were hardly the _Mafia_. Then again, they were just as dangerous as any other gone toting group of people with anger issues and twisted views of the world. “Isn’t that only in movies?” he wondered now.

Duke grinned a little. “Being a completely law abiding citizen with no connections to the mob, I have to say I don’t actually know.”

“It’s not a mafia thing. I have no affiliations with drug lords or weapons smugglers and I most certainly do not intend on getting any connections like that anytime soon.” Not a lie. But not the truth either. Not the complete truth anyway. He offered his now-empty mug to Duke, who took it off of him.

“Nice to know,” another short pause in conversation, then: “I think he’s going to talk to you.” He meant Elrond, who was coming towards them. “So, I’ll just…”

Bilbo had no wish to share that side of his life with someone like Duke, whom he barely knew, so he quickly waved him off. “Oh, yes! Go ahead. I’ll be right.”

Duke left with one of his short nods.

“Elrond,” Bilbo said now. “Are you all nearly done?”

“We will be soon,” he wasn’t looking at Bilbo though, he was watching Duke’s retreating figure. “Who was that?”

“Duke.” Bilbo replied. “He just moved here.”

“Huh,” Elrond scratched his chin.

“Why?”

“He just looked familiar. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before…” he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Look, I know you’re going to say no, but I’m going to offer anyway. We can let an officer stay with you while we look for who did this-”

“Don’t bother.” Bilbo cut him off quickly. “Really, I’ve got a guard dog the size of a horse,” he waved to Gandalf, “and I live on a very close-knit street with a very nosy community of people. If there was anyone hanging round here, they would know and say something.”

Elrond didn’t seem too pleased, but he looked more or less convinced by Bilbo’s argument. “Alright then,” he sighed. “But if this escalates…”

“Then I will gratefully accept protection from the police.” Bilbo finished. “But for now, I think I can handle it.”

“We’ll be interviewing the neighbours, so if you need anything you’ll still be able to find us in the street for the next few hours. After that, you have my number. If there is even one little thing odd or out of place or worrying, then call me immediately. Alright?”

Bilbo nodded. “Sure. I can go inside now?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all clear.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Gandalf padded inside after him, sniffing the floor and the walls, just as displeased as Bilbo was about the intrusion. He sighed.

“Looks like we’ll just have to be extra careful about locking the house up tonight, huh?”

It was later that night, just after he’d finished triple checking the back door to make sure it was barred when there was a knock at the front door.

For a moment he panicked, before realising that if someone was going to attack him it’d be hardly likely that they’d bother knocking on the front door, would it?

He pulled the door open and peered out curiously, surprised at what he found. “Oh,” he said, “hello.”

Duke looked slightly uncomfortable on his doorstep. “I just thought I’d come and see how you were doing…”

“I’m coping.”

“Alright then…” Duke was frowning, so it obviously wasn’t alright, but he let it drop.

He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, so Bilbo found himself offering on a whim: “Would you like to come in? I’ve got the kettle on.”

Duke considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Sure. You can pay me back for this afternoon.”

Bilbo gestured for Duke to come in, and led him down the hall. He watched out of the corner of his eye with a smile as Duke appraised the hall around him, critically eyeing the pictures. He paused at one particular painting, one his father had done a week before he’d died.

Bilbo smiled and sighed. “My father liked to paint a lot before he died,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Sorry,” Duke’s expression changed, as if he were viewing the picture in a completely different light now.

“Oh,” Bilbo waved it off, “everyone always says that. It’s been a long time,” he gazed at the painting wistfully as he spoke. “I don’t feel the sadness so much anymore.” Just happy memories. Sometimes he did feel a twinge of pain, he had to admit, but fondness was the most common emotion he felt when recalling his parents. “Well, we can’t stand and stare at it all day, let’s…” But Duke wasn’t moving. “Duke? Duke?”

He looked like he’d been pulled out of a memory. “Yes? What?”

Bilbo grinned. “Now, now,” he teased, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to say ‘what?’ like that?” He waved for Duke to keep walking, and when they reached the kitchen, he began making excused immediately.

He grabbed a handful of things and began to shuffle the about, making room to accommodate for his house guest. “I know, I know. It’s a mess.”

A hand snatched out and grabbed something off of the pile. “Is that a map?” Duke queiered, and Bilbo yanked it back.

“Now _that_ is just rude,” although he had to admit it was kind of nice to see someone interested in old maps. “And yes,” he continued, “if you’re so keen on knowing. It is. Would you like something to eat?” It was only polite to offer, he supposed. “I made some bread this morning. It’s not warm anymore, of course, but it’s still fresh. I made gingerbread cookies as well, yesterday, though unfortunately I did eat over half of those myself,” he recalled eating all those slices of cake this morning and tapped a his stomach the same way he’d done in Ori’s house. “Not my smartest decision ever, I’ll tell you.” But he was digressing. “I’ve also got carrot cake,” he added, rather unhappily, “which is nonsense. I only make it for visitors. Who wants cake with _carrot_ in it? It seems so odd to me.” He always went off on this tangent when he talked about carrot cake, but he couldn’t help it. “If you want cake, you go all out, don’t you? With chocolate and icing and all sorts of candies. But _carrot cake_? Who ever heard of a healthy cake? If you like carrot cake, I do apologise. But _really_!” he stomped his foot, making the mugs on the counter rattle a little. “Such an odd thing. But I’ve got scones and cupcakes as well, but those aren’t homemade. I do get lazy sometimes, you know-”

Duke cut in, rather smart of him, Bilbo supposed. “I’m fine. I’ve already had dinner.”

Ah, of course. It was night time. People didn’t eat carrot cake or cookies for dinner. Well, normal people anyway.

“Oh, well, that’s alright then,” he found himself grinning. “I suppose night-time foods would have been more appropriate to offer anyway.” He added sheepishly. “But I digress.” Something he always did. He set a cup in front of Duke before putting one beside it, where he could sit. “A nice cup of char for you.”

Duke looked like he was ruminating something. “You look rather tired,” he announced eventually, before wrapping his lips around the edge of the cup and taking a sip.

“Ah, I’m more of a Night Owl, I suppose,” he admitted now. “Late nights and early mornings… I don’t really like being out during midday. It feels so dull to me.”

Duke didn’t seem to want to talk about his abhorrent loathing of midday, instead, he asked: “So, uh, are the police worried about the whole thing?”

“Maybe. I mean, they’ll look into it, of course,” Bilbo laughed, “it would be a bit odd for them to ignore it completely. But there’s not much they can really do. Maybe arrest him for vandalism, but…”

He hadn’t noticed his slip of the tongue until Duke pointed it out with a shrewd look and a frown. “Him?”

 _Oh, fuck_. “Well,” Bilbo backtracked, trying to sound casual, “I suppose that’s a bit assumptive. It could be a ‘her’. Or a ‘them’. Or even an ‘it’, if you want to go really out there.” He laughed a little forcefully.

Duke seemed surprised. “You’re reacting very calmly to this.”

“Well, if I broke down I’d just waste time, wouldn’t I? After all, I’ve got lots of things to do in my day; I don’t intend to waste any precious time whimpering about some idiot who thought it’d be cool to pull some sick kind of prank.” He wasn’t going to put his life on hold because this was happening again. He refused to.

Duke didn’t appear to be too convinced, but once again let the matter drop. “Fair enough,” he said simply, shrugging.

Bilbo decided that maybe it was time for a change of subject. “So, tell me about you, newest member of the village. Where are you from?” Both a good diversion tactic and an interesting topic. Right now, Duke seemed rather mysterious. Bilbo felt that needed to be changed.

Duke paused before answering. “Uh… Erebor.”

“Oh, really?” He’d heard so much about the place, but he’d never really had time to visit. Not to mention those twins came from Erebor, too. Strange coincidence, that is. “There are two boys from there who live here, too! Fili and-”

“Kili. Yes, they’re my nephews.”

Ah, so much for coincidences. Although now that he thought about it, they all looked quite the same. They had similar thick hair, and the same long nose and what Bilbo could only describe as animated eyebrows. “Oh, now nice!” he cooed. “I’m sorry to say they didn’t mention you.” Pity. They should have told Bilbo they had an attractive Uncle.

Duke just shrugged. “I don’t see them very often, I’m used to working a lot, and… you know how it gets.” He waved a hand about vaguely.

“So… you’re taking a break?” Bilbo wondered.

“A forced one, yes,” Duke did not appear to be interesting in breaks.

“Forced?” he repeated, dubious as to what he actually meant.

“I had a heart attack.”

Well, that would definitely put a damper on things. “Oh, my.” But Duke _did_ look more than a little exhausted now that he thought about it.

Duke went on. “My family decided they’d take over… er, the company and I could have a nice break to relieve stress.”

“Well, that sounds nice. You don’t like holidays?” The words caused him to smile, making him remember the conversation he’d had with Ori this morning about that damned movie.

“No.”

And what did he say to that? “Ah. That’s a bit weird.” He wondered if Duke would take that badly. But he just snorted in amusement.

“I’ve been told that.”

“I suppose you like to keep busy though,” he mused now. After all, he looked like a busy sort of man. Like he did something important and big with his time.

“Something like that.” Duke offered no more, though, so Bilbo decided he should steer back to Duke’s family.

“So what are Fili and Kili’s parents like? I’ve always been curious about that.” He couldn’t imagine it. Both boys were so similar yet so different, almost singular in their behaviour, like one living organism split into two bodies. Did their mother have blonde hair, or brown hair? Blue eyes or brown?

“They’re alright.” Duke replied, not going into any detail at all.

Bilbo started to laugh. “That’s it? Really?” Then again, he had known Duke wasn’t a man of many words.

“Well…” he looked like he was unsure about what Bilbo wanted to hear, “they’re nice.” He informed him, before grinning slightly. “Overbearing sometimes, he admitted, “well, actually, that’s just Dis. Westley is fine. Reasonable.” So Westley was the father. “Dis fights me tooth and nail about everything.” And Dis was the mother. “She’s much better than Frerin though, my other brother,” he added quickly. “He’s never been good at handling big situations, and I was kind of worried that he was going to be in charge, but he’s responsible enough…” Duke made a face. “Well, when he wants to be anyway, and Dis is there to pull him in line. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dis is doing all the work and Frerin is just lounging about on the throne.”

“King of the family, then, eh?” Bilbo asked, laughing.

Duke seemed relieved that Bilbo had got the joke.“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Who else is there?” Bilbo wanted to know.

“Oh, well, there’s Dwalin, though he’s not family. He just…” Duke made a face again, “works for us.”

“What does he do?” Bilbo prodded.

“…Security.” The word sounded stilted. “He, uh, he’s a pain in the arse, too, actually. Always on my back about not living a normal life. Well,” he rolled his eyes at Bilbo now, “as normal as it can be. Says I should have fun more.”

He said it like it was a bad thing.

“Well,” Bilbo commented, “that’s kind of good advice.” Wasn’t it?

But Duke was already going on. “Then, I suppose, there’s Bombur.”

What an odd set of names. But then, this was Erebor. Land of the strong where Khuzdul, their language, was as tough as the people who spoke it. “And what does he do?”

“He’s a caterer, I suppose you could say.”

Right, then. “So you run a catering company?”

“Uh…” he scratched his head, “not exactly.”

Maybe it was hard to explain in English. Duke seemed fluent, but he knew people who had spoken it for years and still didn’t understand it.

“Bombur’s quite nice,” Duke was saying now. “Always going on that we’re all too thin,” he chuckled, and it was a nice sound. “Everyone’s too thin compared to Bombur. He’s got the biggest moustache I’ve ever seen.”

Bilbo didn’t really grow facial hair, so he didn’t know all that well and had to ask. “And you aren’t worried that it’ll get in the food?”

The reaction was different to the one he’d expected. He thought that maybe he’d get a raised eyebrow or one of those frowns, but instead, Duke burst into peals of laughter, slapping the table. “I bloody hope not,” he informed Bilbo, “else I’ll have some weird ginger hairball in my stomach.”

“Well, that’s… gross.”

But yet again, Duke was moving on. “Did you want to hear about Balin?”

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo was thankful for the attempt to get things back on track. “Anything to take my mind off of tangles of hair in stomachs.”

“Well, Balin is… old and wise and smells like Werthers Originals. He used to advise my father. And then, after he died, he started advising me when I took over. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew everything about everything.”

Duke went on, his voice calming and soothing, and Bilbo felt himself lulled into a half-sleep, where his eyes were completely open, but he wasn’t really listening or responding to anything.

“I didn’t realise that was the time,” Duke slapped a hand down on the table, jolting Bilbo a little. “I’d better get going. Christ,” he ran a hand over his face. “My sleeping pattern is going to be so out of whack.”

Bilbo laughed at him. “Are you cranky when you don’t have your six hours sleep?”

“I am, yes.” Duke didn’t seem ashamed to admit it. “Besides, you look beat anyway. You’d better try and get some rest.”

He was right. Bilbo yawned. “I suppose so,” he said eventually. “I’ll show you to the door.” Even though it was completely unnecessary, Duke could show himself out, but Bilbo wanted to anyway.

They parted at the front door, and Bilbo watched as he crossed the road and opened the door to his own house. He waved a little, though Duke didn’t seem to notice it.

Bilbo yawned again as he closed and locked the door. He really did need some sleep.

 

 


	3. The Snake

Thorin was not spying on his neighbour. Certainly not. It would be rude to even suggest such a thing. It just happened that he noticed Bilbo taking his monster of a dog out for a walk and decided to go for a walk in the same direction himself. He liked to walk sometimes; there was nothing wrong with that. After all, he was on holiday, and people went on leisurely strolls on holidays, right? Exactly.

Which was why he wasn’t in the very least hiding in a thatch of painfully pointy bushes in order to avoid Bilbo catching him _not_ stalking him. Thorin Durin did not stalk people.

And he did not spend a ridiculous amount of time hiding in an undignified position in bushes. Not if he could help it, anyway.

Bilbo had so far gone to the bakery and shared a pie with his dog before rushing off to the post office to mail some letters. Right now, however, he was currently having a rather friendly chat with someone else in the park while Gandalf was sniffing about their feet. Thorin didn’t really remember how he got here, but he just prayed the dog didn’t find him. He could not stand that humiliation. Royalty was not caught lurking in bushes.

“…I heard about the police, dreadful business.” The words caught his attention and he perked up slightly.

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo sounded just as unflappable and cheery as he had the other day when Thorin had found him. “Just someone playing a trick, I assume. The police are on it, so I have no worries.”

“Well, if I see anything,” through a gap in the leaves and twigs he could see the old lady tapping her nose. “I’ll let you know.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, thank you. It’s nice to know there are people looking out for me.” Thorin repressed a smile. To him, that sounded more like ‘it’s nice to know that the rest of my neighbours are nosy bastards’, which, he supposed, was a good thing in this situation. If they saw anything, they’d certainly announce it to the world.

“Oh, and what about your neighbour?” Thorin felt himself tense.

“What about him?” Bilbo wondered.

“Well, what’s he like?” The woman wanted to know. “He seems to keep himself to himself mostly, so barely anyone knows anything about it.”

Bilbo looked like he was considering something, perhaps what to say to placate the woman. “He’s from Erebor,” he answered eventually. “He’s here on holiday, and he’s Fili and Kili’s uncle, but I think everyone already knew that.”

“Oh, yes, we see them out and about together all the time. Is there anything else?” the woman leaned forward, “Anything _juicy_? You understand what I mean?”

Bilbo seemed hardly impressed with the question. “Well, I hardly think I’d be privy to that information. I’ve only known the man a little under a week.”

The woman looked disappointed. “I suppose so,” she sighed now. “Pity. I was hoping for something to tell the ladies at the library.” And then she said her goodbyes and wandered off, leaving Bilbo to roll his eyes and urge Gandalf forward and, thankfully, away from where Thorin had gotten himself stuck. Honestly, he should have more… elegance than this. He’d just seen Bilbo turn around all of a sudden and come in his direction and he just… well, panicked. And dived into the shrubs.

“Come on, Gandalf,” Bilbo was saying now. “Let’s get home and away from any more bigmouths that come our way.”

Thorin grinned, but it quickly faded. After all, he was being assaulted at all sides by various branches and irritating leaves and stupid smelling flowers. He peered out quickly, making sure no one was around and making sure that Bilbo was long gone, before shuffling his way out of the bushes as much a she could, which he had to admit was rather difficult when his clothes were snagged almost everywhere.

So there he was, struggling to get out of the shrubs, rocks and stick poking into his hands and arms and face, dirt all over his clothes, when he heard someone speak out: “Uncle, why are you stuck in the bushes?” Fili sounded both curious and amused.

 _For the love of all that was good and holy._ Although, he supposed, it was better his nephews found him rather than some stranger who’d tell everyone about it. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I fell.”

“Oh,” came Kili’s reply.

“Yes,” he paused before huffing when his nephews said nothing more. “Could you help me?” he asked. “I’m a little stuck.”

“Oh, right, of course, yes.” Two pair of hands grasped at him and yanked him out of the bushes and to his feet. Kili grinned. “There you go.” At least his brother had the decency to attempt to hide his amusement. Fili had his lips pressed into a thin line, but the corners kept quirking upwards, like he was losing the fight with his composure.

“Alright, alright,” he dusted himself off. “Comedy Hour is over. Let’s get out of here.”

“Of course, your highness,” Kili gave a bit of a bow, before gesturing for him to begin waking. “Follow me, and all your whims will be catered to.”

Thorin smacked him in the back of the head and Fili snickered.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell is this I hear about you sacking Dain as Head of Communications?” Thorin demanded the second Frerin answered the phone.

“Brother, brother, brother,” Frerin sighed, “you’ve got to chill out. I’ve got things under control.”

Thorin pressed a hand to his face. “You didn’t answer my damn question.”

“For your information I did what I did with the support of not only our dear sister, but the rest of our confidants as well. Dain’s wasting money, we need someone in that role who can do things efficiently and sustainably. I know you’ve been thinking about it yourself the past few weeks before you went on holiday, so don’t pretend I’m the bad guy here.”

“You can’t just sack our cousin, Frerin.”

“Not even if it boosts efficiency by twenty percent?”

“ _Twenty percent_?” Thorin asked, baffled.

“Yeah, things have been running _way_ smoother since he went. And we put him in a marketing role- he seems to enjoy it better. Proud of me yet, big brother?” Thorin offered no reply. “Thorin?” Frerin drew out the word teasingly.

Thorin heaved a sigh. “Fine.” He said eventually. “You did good. Well,” he added suddenly, “I mean. You did well.”

But Frerin noticed the slip, and started laughing. “I see spending time in England has improved your language. Anyone gotten a little too curious yet? Do I need to send Dwalin over there to assassinate any blackmailers?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Or, perhaps, I should send him over anyway to push you into your new friend’s bedroom.”

“Have you been talking to Fili and Kili again?”

“Of course I have. We’re family.”

“I made a friend and suddenly to you all I’m the local harlot.”

Frerin snorted. “You are not. We just think it’s nice that you’re getting some sort of life. Even if it is with a guy who never wears matching socks.” Frerin could probably _hear_ Thorin’s frown over the line, because he chortled and continued. “Fili,” he explained. “But look,” Frerin’s tone suddenly turned serious, “all jesting aside, be careful. Fili says you two are becoming good friends and Dwalin mentioned the whole A.Z.O.G thing. So, you know, don’t get too attached. Friendships based on lies don’t really end that well.”

Frerin wasn’t usually serious, but Thorin didn’t make friends that easily. He knew that. He didn’t _like_ people. And although he was subjected to a lot of them in his career, he was still separate from them: isolated. He was The King, not The Friend. Even before he was the King, he was the Prince, the one you admired and envied because of social status and not someone you’d pass notes with about the hot substitute teacher. Not that he minded, not at all if he was being honest. He had a few friends, close friends, friends he could trust, and that was it. He didn’t _want_ to be the popular guy. Because he knew the popular guy usually ended up drunk and passed out on Pretz Street like some sad sot by the age of thirty. Thorin was not going to end up like that.

“I am not getting attached,” Thorin assured him, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be leaving in a few more weeks. He’s good company, that’s all. Besides, I don’t trust him. I’m curious, but I don’t trust him.”

There was a pause on the other line before Frerin finally answered. “Good,” he said eventually. “I know you’re not the gullible type, but…”

“I get it.”

“Right, well…” Frerin coughed. “This got deep fast,” he laughed, and Thorin could almost imagine him running his hands through his air awkwardly. “I’d better run. You know, people to see, countries to run, ladies to debauch.”

“Frerin-” Thorin growled.

Frerin burst into laughter. “Just so you know,” he said as way of parting, “you’re totally going to need to burn the furniture in your study when you get back.” And before Thorin could formulate a yell of anger, Frerin had laughed again and hung up.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself.

“How was Uncle Frerin?” Kili poked his head through into the living room.

Thorin rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. “He’s his usual self.”

“Cool. Well, the risotto’s ready, so…”

Thorin peeled himself from the couch, making a face at the scent of burnt rice. “Alright, I’m coming.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Bilbo had seen when he got home was the letter, obviously shoved under his door, sitting on the ground in the front hall. Well, not really a letter, per se. Letters were usually comprised of more than a few sentences. They had introductions and goodbyes. This had neither.

To be honest, he wasn’t really sure what to expect when he picked it u with a handkerchief and opened it. The cliché image in his head had been something along the lines of a bloody message of ‘ _you’re next_ ’ or something along those lines. But instead, in a familiar cursive handwriting was; _I’ll be seeing you_. Which he realised was far much gut wrenching than any other possible message that could have been sent.

And it was in Smaug’s own hand, which made it all the more worse.

He took his phone from his pocket and dialled the usual number.

“Elrond,” he said when the line clicked in.

“Bilbo?” The concern was evident. “Has something happened?”

“Well, kind of.” He considered the letter in his hand. “Nothing’s really happened, but I got a letter, did you-?”

“Have you touched it?” Elrond cut in.

“Yes,” he answered, “but I used a handkerchief. Did you want me to bring it in?”

Elrond sighed, sounding incredibly tired. “You’d better,” he informed Bilbo now. “I’m doubting there’ll be any prints, but we can hope. Did you see anyone around, or…?”

“Not at all. The street was empty when I got home.”

“Alright. Get over here and we’ll sort this out. And I’m having someone watch your house from now on.”

Bilbo hung up and sighed. “Wonderful,” he said more to himself than to Gandalf, who was sitting at his feet obediently. “Criminal ex-boyfriend manages to send me creepy letters. Just my luck.”

 

* * *

 

“And you’re sure this is his writing?” Elrond asked, frowning at the letter that Bilbo had placed carefully on his desk.

“Certain. I’ve gotten letters from him before, from prison. But they were never shoved under my door. It’s like he wrote and delivered it himself.”

“He couldn’t have done that when he’s still in prison.”

“Are you sure?”

Elrond looked at him. “I’ll check, if it’ll make you feel better. But if he’d gotten out, we would have been the first to know. More likely he sent this to one of his men with instructions and _they_ mailed it.”

Bilbo relaxed. “Yes, yes that sounds more logical. You’re right.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just… these things sometimes send me into a bit of a panic and, you know, I tend not to think clearly.”

“It’s alright. I’ll get Officer Lewis to drive you home and if you find anything else call me immediately. I’m going to have this checked for prints.” He grabbed a handkerchief and very carefully picked the letter up at its corner. “And we’ll interview the people on your street again; maybe someone saw something this time.”

Bilbo didn’t get his hopes up.

Officer Lewis wasn’t exactly a talkative chap; he just sat stoically in the driver’s seat, unspeaking the entire drive home. In fact Bilbo had stared at him for some time and wasn’t sure he’d even seen the man _blink_.

“Well, thank you,” he said anyway after Lewis pulled up in front of Bilbo’s house, one hand on the door. He received no reply. “Alright then,” he jumped out of the car, slamming the door closed behind him. He frowned at the car as if drove away.

It took him a moment before he realised he wasn’t alone on the pathway. “More police officers?”

Bilbo turned to find Duke frowning at the space the police car had occupied not moments ago. “Oh, uh, yes. Just a check-up. Nothing serious.”

Duke didn’t appear to believe him. “Well. If it suddenly does become serious, I’ve got a ridiculously large bottle of Glenfiddich, so…” he shrugged. “The offer’s there.”

Bilbo smiled. “That’s one hell of an offer,” he waved his hand. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

Nearby, two men sat in a car, watching.

“How interesting,” the first man commented, watching the two with narrow, icy eyes.

“You know the stranger from somewhere, boss?” the second man asked.

“Why yes,” Smaug replied as he tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel, a wide, snake-like smile stretching across his face. “I believe I do.”

 

 


	4. The Bullet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if you noticed chapter lengths are varying, it's just because I suck at consistency. They vary from five word pages to ten word pages in length, so they are kind of consistent, but not really. Forgive me!

Bilbo Baggins had one hell of a past. After losing both his parents at the age of ten, he was bounced from care home to care home, never really in one place for too long. By the age of sixteen Smaug, who was twenty at the time, got his claws in him. For the years that followed, Bilbo worked his way up the ranks of A.Z.O.G to become Smaug’s second hand man and, surprisingly enough, a little bit more. It irked him, the knowledge that someone like Bilbo, who seemed to be an intelligent, kind, logical and well-rounded person could be as injudicious in their decision of partner.

It seemed more like a sad story of manipulation to Thorin. Bilbo, who was young and in a very vulnerable situation was taken advantage of and twisted to cater to Smaug’s whims. He seemed to wise up soon, enough, however, and by the age of twenty-four seemed to smarten up and realised his mistake, breaking ties and testifying.

Thorin admired him for that. It wasn’t often you found someone willing to testify in a case like that, especially when that someone had previously been involved with the head of the organisation.

It sounded like something out of a badly written romance novel, or a soap opera, but there was no helping that. Although Thorin was no darkly handsome rogue with long flowing hair- well… his hair was long, but that wasn’t the point. Bilbo certainly wasn’t some damsel in distress. Although Smaug definitely would be the seedy evil protagonist if this were a book. He was perfect for that particular role.

Thorin set the file down, slipping off his reading glasses and running a hand down his face. He needed to get home. He needed to get back to work. He needed to get far away from people who posed a potential threat to him if they found out who he was. But Bilbo looked like he was in trouble, even if he didn’t feel like sharing with Thorin. His involvement in A.Z.O.G and the rat nailed to his door, not to mention the day Thorin saw him leave his house, looking clearly distressed, a small letter in his gloved hands, only to come back later with a police escort.

The whole situation seemed completely messed up, and it was the kind of scandal Thorin had been taught to passionately avoid. But he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t leave when things were the way they were. He’d never really met anyone before that he was genuinely concerned for, that he genuinely _liked_ (regardless of his ridiculous hair and strange tangents- which he had to admit, if only to himself, were now kind of charming and sweet personality traits). He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes, as if he could push out the thought. He could not _like_ Bilbo. He simply couldn’t. Not only because of Bilbo’s previous entanglements in Smaug’s group, but also because he was the fucking King of Erebor, and that was one hell of a thing to be withholding from someone. Good bonds did not start out on lies. Lies only form the basis of a corroded and false relationship.

But for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t want to do the right thing. He wanted to continue lying, to forget Bilbo’s involvement, or at least help him. That was it. He wanted to help him. And not in that ‘you’re a project I need to fix’ unhealthy sort of way. It was a genuine concern. He wanted Bilbo to be fine and happy. And that would make _him_ happy.

And that was a dangerous thing to realise. It wasn’t love, but it was coming very close to something like it, something that would lead into it. But he wasn’t sure he could stop it.

He was screwed.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo should have seen it coming.

“You look well,” Smaug said with a smile, stretching out on the seat in the kitchen.

Bilbo set his keys down on the table slowly. “Where’s Gandalf?” Gandalf would have never let Smaug inside, and even if he had managed to get past the dog, he would have been found out by him pretty quickly. Gandalf had excellent senses.

“Locked him out the back,” Smaug replied casually. “Didn’t want the mongrel biting me.”

Gandalf had been with Bilbo since he’d found him starving and cold on the street. Bilbo had been reminded much of himself, looking at the sad, hungry dog. He had no one, just like Bilbo. Well, at the time Bilbo had Smaug and other members of the organisation looking out for him. He’d been with them for a while, and though he was only seventeen, he felt much older.

Smaug had almost kicked him back out again when Bilbo brought him home.

_“That mutt can go back on the street.” Smaug had gone to kick the dog, but Bilbo jumped between them, stopping him._

_“Please, no.” Bilbo had begged him, putting his hands up. Gandalf hid behind Bilbo’s legs, growling, his ears flat and his tail between his legs. “He’ll be good. I’ll look after him myself. Please.”_

_Smaug had rolled his eyes. “If he pisses on the carpet, I’ll fucking shoot him. But if it keeps you happy and working at full speed, then fine. Keep the mongrel.”_

“You never liked him,” Bilbo muttered.

“No,” Smaug smiled, seeming pleased at the mention of a past between them. When they did speak, which was almost never now, Bilbo tried not to allude to their relationship. It seemed to fuel Smaug, and he didn’t like that. “I didn’t.”

“You’re-”

“In jail?” Smaug finished. “Of course,” he smiled wolfishly. “You would have been notified if I’d escaped. For all intents and purposes I am still back in my cell, withering away since the day you put me there,” he paused before shrugging casually. “I can’t be in two places at once, after all.”

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo demanded. He was quite proud that his voice didn’t even break or anything.

“Well, I’m concerned for you, of course. Those types you’ve been hanging around with.”

“What, good people as opposed to murdering extremists? Well, yes, I’ve really taken a step up in the world, haven’t I?”

Smaug chuckled, though he looked hardly impressed. “You know, there was a time when you avidly subscribed to our beliefs.”

“I believed in equality and peace, never in murder and violence.”

“I was informed you’d gotten slightly more… how shall I put it?” he mused. “ _White-bread_ in the time I’ve been away.” Smaug rolled his eyes at the idea. “But I’m willing to forgive that.”

“ _You’re_ willing to forgive _me_?”

“I am, yes.”

He let out a huff. “Unbelievable.”

Smaug simply raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo put his hand up. “I am not having a lovers spat with you, Smaug. I haven’t seen you in years and all of a sudden you manage to bust out of prison and just decide to pay a visit? Not to mention the rat and the note.”

“I don’t know anything about a rat,” Smaug lied, smoothing the sleeve of his jacket. “But of course I sent you a note. I couldn’t just show up without some sort of prior warning, could I? That would be rude. Besides, I wanted to see you. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“There are a few things wrong with that,” Bilbo replied dryly. “The fact that I put you in jail, for instance. Or the fact that I have a restraining order against you after you started sending those letters before I moved again. I like it here- I don’t want to have to move another time because of you-”

Smaug cut him off. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Then you go,” he snapped in reply. “Because I will not be where you are. Not ten miles near where you are. And let’s not forget the big ringer here- _you’re supposed to be in prison_.” Bilbo gave a great big flourish, which Smaug seemed to find entertaining.

“I am a little upset about the restraining order, I have to say. The letters were uncalled for though, I understand that now. But at the time I was rather angry at you for putting me in a cage.” He tapped his fingers on the table as he spoke. “After all, no one likes being put in jail by their better half.”

“I am _not_ your better half. I think putting you in jail is a pretty big statement of ‘we’re not dating anymore’.”

“Every relationship has its ups and downs,” Smaug said now. “We’re no different from the rest of them-”

“Are you kidding?” Bilbo wanted to know. “Are you insane? Are you… are you living in some sort of parallel universe? You’re a _terrorist_. You’ve _killed people_. I had to testify against you in court. You send me love letters one week, and death threats the other. Plus you had someone nail a rodent to my door, which I’m pretty sure is a threat as well. How is _that_ anything like a normal relationship?”

“You always were dramatic,” Smaug replied.

So yes, of course, he was absolutely insane.

“I could call the police, you know,” Bilbo said now. “There’s a copper right outside watching the house.”

“He didn’t even see me come in, so I highly doubt he has the capacity to do his job.”

“You climbed in through the back window, didn’t you? Went over the fence and through the backyard.”

Smaug pursed his lips. “A good magician never reveals his tricks.” He’d always hated it when Bilbo had called him out on things.

“You probably looked ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” That certainly seemed to irk him. Bilbo: 1 Smaug: 0. “You’re the one consorting with dubious characters.” He waited, an eyebrow raised, for some kind of reply.

For a while Bilbo just watched him, confused.  “What,” he said eventually, “you mean my neighbour?” Of course Smaug had been spying on his neighbours. Bilbo rolled his eyes. “He’s just some guy on holiday.”

“Now, now,” he clicked his tongue. “I’m sure I taught you better than that.”

Bilbo paused, frowning. “What is he then?”

“A little more important than just ‘some guy on holiday’,” Smaug informed him. “Perhaps you should do a little research,” he continued, getting to his feet now. “After all, I’ve been led to believe he’s been doing the same about you.”

Bilbo straightened. “That’s ridiculous.” He managed eventually. “There is no earthly reason why he would lie to me about who he is. I don’t even know him.”

“He doesn’t seem even slightly recognisable?” Smaug wondered now, peering at Bilbo closely. “Not even the tiniest bit?”

And while Bilbo was standing there, utterly baffled, he swooped down and kissed him before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen.

“What?” Bilbo called after him, running into the hall. “You’re just going to walk out the front door?”

Smaug pulled the door open now, turning and looking over his shoulder at Bilbo. “That was the plan, yes.” He informed him before stepping out onto the front steps. “Remember what I told you. And please,” he put a hand up, “do give me a five minute head start before you call your police friends.”

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Bilbo stomped his foot on the ground. “Son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

Thorin was considering calling Dwalin for another check-up when the hurried knock at the door sounded through the house. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a distressed looking Bilbo with an even more distressed looking dog by his side certainly wasn’t it. He had thought about, briefly, going over to talk to him- to check on him, but he didn’t want to seem nosy, or pushy, and if Bilbo didn’t trust him, Bilbo didn’t trust him. It was probably the smart thing to do.

Or… maybe not. “You said if I ever needed to talk about it I could talk to you.” He said in lieu of a greeting.

“Yes,” Thorin replied. “Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

He pulled the door open a little further. “Drink?” he offered.

Bilbo smiled, though it appeared to be strained. “Something very strong and very alcoholic, please.” he said, brushing past him. “This is, uh… cosy.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, moving down the hall and into the kitchen. “I know it’s not as… decorative as yours, but keep in mind I’ve only been here for a few weeks."

Bilbo shrugged. “I suppose.”

“So, what’s going on?” He pulled a face when he turned to the cupboards. _What’s going on_? What was he, the father in a sixties sitcom? He shook it off and grabbed two glasses.

“I get the feeling you might know some of it.”

Thorin tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I had a visitor today.”

That… was a strange change of subject. “And?”

“He alluded to the fact that you may or may not be lying to me.”

“Well,” he turned, looking at Bilbo carefully. “I lie to a lot of people.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched for a moment before stretching into a small smile. It wasn’t a lot, but at least it wasn’t something. “So,” he said now, “I figured I’d make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Thorin wondered, handing over the drink. He took a seat beside him on the counter. “What kind of deal?”

“One where I tell you something and you tell me something.”

Thorin felt slightly uncomfortable. “My something might be a little bigger than your something.”

Bilbo frowned, face twisting into confusion. But Thorin could see a sly smile behind it. “We are talking about secrets, right?” he asked.

Thorin choked on his drink and Bilbo snickered into his.

“I don’t know how much you know,” Bilbo began now, looking slightly more sombre. “So I guess I’ll just go right to the beginning.” He fiddled with the rim of his glass. “My parents were both advocates and protestors. Anti-war, pro-choice, equality. You know, a lot of things. I suppose even at a young age I got that off them. They were always taking me to some sort of rally. I think my dad did it more for my mum rather than the actual cause. Not that he didn’t care, of course, but from what I remember he’d do almost anything for her. I was ten when… some drugged up politician drove onto the street and killed them both. And-” his hand curled around the edge of the table now, knuckles going white from the pressure. “And he just got away with it. And I felt pretty bitter about it, you know. But what could I do? The systems corrupt so one rich bastard gets away with whatever he wants just because he has money and power.”

He inhaled deeply, composing himself before he continued.

“I had family, but none of them had the money to take me in. So I went to a few different places. And then I met Smaug. It seems silly, but he was… _refreshing_ and new and passionate and at the time he seemed to care about the same things as I did. Holding people to their actions. So for a long while I was with him and this… this, uh, this group. I didn’t see it as anything bad, you know. Not until… I don’t know, things just went downhill fast, and bad things started happening, and Smaug just got… worse. Maybe I just lost the rose-tinted-glasses, you know. Maybe I just saw things for what they really were all of a sudden,” he looked at Thorin, and upon finding he had his rapt attention, continued. “It doesn’t matter how I saw it, point is that I saw it. And I knew I needed to get out. But Smaug got possessive and angry and he made sure someone was watching me at all times. I couldn’t go out alone, I couldn’t talk to certain people, I couldn’t see my cousin and her son, I couldn’t even visit my own parents graves. And then my cousin and her husband died: drowned. And their son- he was alive in hospital, but it wasn’t good. He had hypothermia. I snuck out and saw him. But, uh, he… died. When I came home Smaug was _fuming_. He broke my nose,” his fingers ghosted over the cartilage now, where there was a slight crook. “So I went to the police,” he surmised with a shrug, “told them about this plan I’d heard Smaug talking about. To hit some politician and his family. I hadn’t realised, but he’d done that sort of thing before. Not that anyone could ever prove it. They were too late to stop it, but they got Smaug. He was going to get away, but I agreed to go up in court. He got a few years, but not nearly enough. And he... started sending me letters. Sometimes they were nice, but mostly they were… you know, death threats. Things got messy, so I had to move. A few times. But he just _kept_ finding me.”He paused, taking a long drink before speaking again. “He found me again today.”

Thorin felt himself stiffen. Smaug was _here_?

“Well,” Bilbo rolled his eyes, “He knew I was here for a while. The rat is proof enough of that. But he showed up today,” Bilbo leaned down and scratched Gandalf’s ears. “I don’t know what he’s done, but somehow they still think he’s in prison. I think he managed to talk one of his extremist followers to go in and pose as him. God only knows who would do that for someone else, though.”

 _A madman_ , Thorin thought, though he didn't say anything.

“Anyway, I found him in the kitchen. And he says he forgives me,” Bilbo laughed now. “The absurdity of it all. Like he thinks we’re still together. Like I’d fall for it again. He’s up to something, I know it. But, uh, he said something. Something about you.”

Thorin looked at him for some time, trying to gauge something. But Bilbo’s face was unreadable.  “Which was?” he prodded eventually.

“That you were lying. That you knew a lot more about me than you were letting on.” He paused. “I’ve only ever told one other person that story,” he added now, crossing his arms over his chest, “so I think you owe me some sort of explanation.”

But how to explain it? Thorin shifted in his seat. And where did he even start?

“I looked you up after the rat on the door.” He answered eventually, choosing his words carefully. “We seem to share a dislike for Smaug and his group.”

Bilbo considered that. “You don’t trust me.” He said eventually.

“And you don’t trust me.”

He smiled. “I do. A little. But you’ll forgive me if my past experiences give me a little cynicism.”

Thorin shrugged. “Fair enough. Did you tell the police?”

“What, that a man who is almost certainly still in jail slipped past a policeman on watch and managed to get inside my house with no one watching only to leave again without being seen by anyone at all? Sounds sort of mad, doesn’t it.”

It kind of did. And because he’d read his file, Thorin knew Bilbo had told him the whole story. He’d shared all that with someone he admitted to not trusting. At least not fully, anyway. So Thorin sighed and spoke again. “My name isn’t Duke.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“Well. It is,” he backtracked a little now. “Kind of. It’s a nickname.”

“Then what’s your real name?”

“Thorin,” he received no surprise at that, so he assumed Bilbo wasn’t too knowledgeable about the small island north of The United Kingdom. “I, uh… I do come from Erebor,” he informed him. “Do you know much about it?”

“It’s old,” Bilbo answered with a shrug. “It’s had the same ruling family for as long as written records go back…”

“The Durin’s,” Thorin informed him. “At the moment-” he hesitated, only for a moment, “my brother is, uh, temporarily looking after the country for me while I’m away-”

 _This_ got a rise from him. “No way!” he cried now, getting to his feet. He didn’t look angry. His eyes were wide and he had a sort of amusement in his eye. “You’re lying.”

Thorin felt himself smiling slightly. “No, not really,” he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open. “This is my licence.”

Bilbo took it and stared. And stared. “Holy shit.”

“Told you my secret might be bigger than yours.”

“You weren’t kidding.” Bilbo slowly sat down again. “You weren’t kidding at all. No wonder Smaug knew who you were.”

Smaug in the same town as Thorin. “This isn’t good.”

“No,” Bilbo was shaking his head. “Not at all. You need to- wait,” he made a face now; “ _Fili_ and _Kili_ are _royalty_?” He didn’t seem to believe it.

Thorin burst out into laughter.  “It’s hard to believe, I know. But they’re my nephews, next in line for the throne.”

“You don’t have children of your own?”

“I’m not good with kids,” he found himself saying. “Or women… or men,” the words just slipped out, “Or anyone.”

Bilbo frowned, confused. “But you’re royalty.”

“I am, yes.”

“And you can’t stand kissing babies and talking to people?”

“Babies cry when I go near them.”

Bilbo snorted. “I can see why. You’re kind of scary.”

“It’s a family trait.” Thorin replied simply.

“Well… it must have skipped your nephews, because you can’t even take them seriously let alone find them scary.”

He was right there.

Thorin sighed now. “We have to do something about Smaug.”

“Obviously. But what?” Bilbo asked. “I mean, you’re obviously not wanting to announce to the world that you’re here on holiday- was that heart attack story real?”

“It was.”

“Well. Alright then. Maybe you should just go finish your vacation somewhere else. Like Barbados or Jamaica or somewhere sunny where Smaug most certainly is _not_.”

“And let you receive dead animals as gifts?” Thorin asked now. “Not too keen on that.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You said yourself that he was up to something. I can’t just leave now.” He thought about it for a moment. “We’ll have to talk to the police. Regardless of how insane it sounds. If they’re being unhelpful I can… I can pull some strings-”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Bilbo informed him. “I appreciate the offer, but you getting involved in all of this is a bad idea. I don’t know much about Erebor, but what I do know, Smaug told me. He loathes the royal family. And if he’s not above killing a political family, he’s certainly not above trying to maim you or your nephews. You need to get out of here immediately.”

“Bilbo, I think I can handle myself-” the irony of the perfect timing to this of course didn’t pass him, but at the moment he was a little more preoccupied with the fact that a bullet had just came through the kitchen window, slamming right into his shoulder. The pain hissed up his side, and then curled down his torso and legs, and not that he’d admit it, but he did scream in pain like a little girl. Bilbo didn’t seem to notice however. He dragged them both to the ground, grabbing a dish cloth from the sink and wrapping it around Thorin’s bicep.

He hastily pressed his phone into Thorin’s hands. “Call the police. Now.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Thorin demanded when Bilbo shuffled across the room to the hallway.

Bilbo, still on his knees, turned to Thorin. “I’m going to see if he’s gone,” he said now, gesturing to the front door. “He could be on top of one of the houses across the road- just stay there and call the police.”

Thorin wanted to argue, but Bilbo was gone, and his shoulder was throbbing in pain and there was a hell of a lot of blood running down his arm and chest, staining his clothes. He needed medical attention quickly.

He dialled 999.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if there are any errors, please point them out!


	5. The Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm supposed to be up super early tomorrow, so obviously I got the urge to do everything within the span of a night, right? So here's another chapter.

Fili and Kili were certainly not impressed, nor did they believe Thorin’s version of events.

“Mister _Bilbo_ ,” Kili said now, hands across his chest, eyebrow raised dubiously. “A terrorist?” Fili had much the same expression on his face.

“He used to be a member of A.Z.O.G, yes.”

“And then he testified against his creepy ex and got him in jail." Fili finished lamely. "Now he’s out and wants to kill all of us?”

“That is… a very shortened version of events and doesn’t fully explain the situation,” Thorin told them both, “but yes, that’s the gist of it.”

They were in the hospital, after Thorin had been patched up, and were waiting for the doctor to give him the green light to leave. He’d already called Dwalin to see if there was anything they could do, but Dwalin had no bright ideas, other than: _‘come home right now or I’m going to catch a plane over there and drag you by your hair through the ocean myself’_ , which was hardly useful advice, was it?

“I don’t know…” Fili said now. “I can’t imagine Bilbo blowing stuff up.”

“He didn’t blow anything up. He got dragged into it and then when he realised what was going on, he left.”

“It does see kind of fantastical, Uncle Thorin.” Kili informed him, still making a face. “I mean, you did get shot and everything, but still…”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “The threat is real, and you’re going home on the next plane you can get.” They didn’t like that, but Thorin wasn’t having any of it. He cut them off before they could object. “I will hear no protests. I spoke to your mother and she agreed. You’re going home. At least for the time being. I’ll go with you to get your bags packed, and I’ll see you off at the airport.” He was not leaving them alone until he was sure they’d be safe. No one else was going to get shot today, not even in their arm or leg.

The boys grumbled their protests, but knew better than to fight with him about something like this. Eventually, he was allowed to check out of the hospital, and he got up, feeling slightly dizzy from the painkillers but much better than before and made his way to the car park where Fili’s car was.

But a voice called out, stopping him.

“Hey, you!” Thorin turned, finding a very short man with a bowl-like cut and big eyes stalk up to him, face twisted into utter rage.

“Yes?” he asked cautiously, as the man came to a stop in front of him.

Instead of replying, the man simply raised his fist and smacked Thorin right in the shoulder of his good arm.

“What the hell?”

“You stay away from him!” the short man hissed.

Thorin rubbed his arm, though to be honest, it didn’t really hurt. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Ori and I will _skin_ you if you get Bilbo hurt!” He smacked Thorin’s arm again.

“What the-” he grabbed the man’s wrist to stop him from attacking him again, though that didn’t appear to help at all. He just pulled his hand out of Thorin’s grip and continued his barrage, a long list of curses and names spitting from his lips. For such a small thing he was _violent_.

Fili and Kili were smothering laughter behind him. “A little help?” he asked them, before turning back to the man- boy… Ori. “Look, I just got shot, so maybe you could…?”

Ori paused, looking him up and down. “I suppose you do look like you’re in enough pain for now.” The _for now_ bit was a bit worrying, but Thorin would take what he could get.

“Where is Bilbo, Mister Ori?” Fili wanted to know.

“Well, he’s with the police down the hall. I saw you and took the opportunity I was presented.” He looked up at Thorin with a glower. “And you, sir, are bad news.”

“ _I’m_ bad news?” Thorin asked now. “ _I’m_ not the one who just assaulted someone who’d been shot not hours before.”

Ori crossed his arms over his chest, not looking like he was planning on apologising any time soon. “You’ve been nothing but trouble.”

Thorin found himself frowning. “I have?”

“Well,” Ori began to stutter, but he didn’t lose any of his fury, or energy. He just kept barrelling forward. “Maybe not until now,” he pointed an accusing finger at Thorin, much to his nephew’s amusement. “But you’re still trouble. I know it when I see it, mister. I’ve dated enough morons to know.”

Thorin wanted to be offended, he really did. And to be honest in any other situation he would have been. But he was on a large amount of painkillers, and the man was just so funny. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, which only seemed to exacerbate the situation. Ori fumed, resuming his punching of Thorin, thought this only made him laugh more.

“What on Earth is going on?” Suddenly a hand grabbed at Ori’s shoulder, pulling him backwards. “The officers over there were laughing for a good five minutes before I realised what they were laughing at.” Bilbo said now, pointing behind him. Ori glanced at them, and they waved amiably. Obviously they knew each other.

“Does no one in this town like me now?” he wondered.

“You got yourself shot,” Ori informed him. “They know you’re trouble.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. He really needed to get out of here.

“The officers have talked to the men at the prison where Smaug’s at. They’re certain he’s the same man and he’s had no visitors for at least a month, so they’re more than a little doubtful of my story, but they’re going to do a DNA test, just in case.” He looked irritated. “They looked at me like I was mad. They don’t think you getting shot is connected to it at all. They think I’m lying, and some random just decided to pop one in your arm once they found out who you were. Because obviously that’s far more plausible than my story,” he threw his arms wide.

Bilbo was usually a very composed person, so the rant was more than a little surprising.

“Then we just have to get the hell out of here until they do the DNA test.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” Bilbo demanded at the same time Ori stated: “I’m not letting you leave on your own.”

“They can come with us, right Uncle?” Kili asked now.

“Yeah,” Fili nodded, “we’ve got lots of room.”

Of course they did. They lived in a bloody castle. But, despite their success in stemming down anti-royalists, their not-so-private war with A.Z.O.G still raged on. Taking Bilbo there could only make the problem worse. Not to mention the reception he’d get from Thorin’s family, considering his past. Although he’d probably won points with Dwalin for putting Smaug away, so he doubted that would be too much of a problem.

Ori seemed hardly impressed by the offer, and Bilbo looked like he was going to politely decline.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Thorin asked before either of them could get a word in edgewise.

“Well…” Bilbo paused. “Not really.”

“I’ve kind of made things worse with your situation, so it kind of is my responsibility to help. Also,” he put a hand up, “remember that I do owe you for bowling me over in the kitchen so I didn’t get shot in the head- also, patching me up so I didn’t bleed to death.”

Bilbo hesitated, but he was smiling now. “I don’t know…”

“It’ll be good, Bilbo!” Kili insisted. “Erebor’s really nice.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that, Kili.” Bilbo replied, not unkindly. “I just don’t want to intrude. And Ori would have to come with me, so…”

“We are kind of past the point of normal social situations, aren’t we?” Thorin replied. “So I’m thinking out of the ordinary solutions need to be applied.” Besides, he couldn’t just hightail it out of there and leave Bilbo to deal with a problem them really affected the both of them. He had his own problems with Smaug. And the enemy of his enemy was a friend. “You could be helpful. You know Smaug; you know how the organisation works… think of it as us helping each other out.”

Bilbo appeared to be at least somewhat convinced. “Huh.”

“Besides, you don’t really have much else of a choice, do you?”

Bilbo sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

 

* * *

 

Ori only had a few people in his life who were very close to him. His brothers, of course, though he rarely saw them. Dori was too far away, up north, and Nori was still in jail after pick-pocketing one too many rich blokes. Bilbo was like family to him, too, another big brother. They looked after each other and looked out for each other. So of course Ori wasn’t going to stay behind. He’d be damned if he let another brother go off somewhere, never to be seen again. Not that Bilbo was like that, but there’d always been that threat there, the thought that one day he might have to up and leave again if his ex found him. Ori knew a bit about psycho exes, he’d had a fair few himself. Not that he was Marilyn Monroe or anything, of course. He didn’t have the curves for that.

So he packed a bag, locked up his house, and met Bilbo at the airport, who was arguing with one of the workers.

“He’ll have to be put in quarantine for a little while after the flight.”

Bilbo looked desperate, hands over Gandalf’s ears, as if he could understand the conversation. Although, knowing Gandalf, he probably did. “I can’t just leave him alone for two weeks in quarantine. He won’t cope with that.”

“There’s no other way, sir, I’m sorry.”

Bilbo inhaled deeply. “Well,” he said eventually, “I’m going to have to, aren’t I? No one here will take him and I can’t just leave him.”

“He’ll be given the best care, sir.” The worker insisted.

Bilbo just grumbled and paid.

“So where’s your new best friend?” Ori wondered after a teary goodbye to Gandalf. Bilbo sniffled into his handkerchief.

“Getting the tickets.” Bilbo said nothing about the ‘best friend’ jab, not that Ori had meant anything by it. He was more entertained by their odd relationship than threatened by it. He wasn’t that kind of jealous friend, anyway.

“Well he’d better be. I certainly can’t afford them.” Ori prided himself on making Bilbo laugh.

Bilbo snorted. “This is certainly going to be an interesting adventure.”

“Well, an adventure is an adventure.”

“You are right there,” Bilbo replied with a smile. “Let’s just hope it’s a good adventure rather than a bad one.”

Ori agreed with that. Maybe he’d even find a rich rogue in the halls of Erebor. He said as much, and Bilbo laughed.

“You always wanted to live life like it was the cover of a romance novel.”

Well, there was nothing wrong with that. A little romance went a long way.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo supposed to outsiders it seemed silly that he wanted to bring Gandalf along. He was certain the assistant he’d spoken to thought him mad. People rarely understood Gandalf. Ori did, of course, and he thought that Duke- well, _Thorin_ did as well.  Smaug certainly hadn’t.

He shifted uncomfortably in the airplane seat as he thought about him. It seemed that trouble followed him no matter where he went, although he was hoping this case was different. He’d be away just until they realised jailed-Smaug wasn’t actually _Smaug-_ Smaug and realised that Bilbo was not insane. He was a little mad, yes. Everyone’s a little mad. But he did not imagine up his little conversation, and Thorin getting shot just after Bilbo went inside his house to talk to him? Didn’t really seem like just a coincidence. But he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. It kind of looked a bit skewed. He had to look at it from an unbiased perspective.

Troubled man declares that someone broke into his home without the police on watch noticing, he then proceeds to have a conversation with that someone, not bothering to call the police until hours later when _another_ man gets shot. Not to mention the fact that the someone he claims to have broken into the house before disappearing without a trace is the same someone who is in containment in a prison miles away, and has had no opportunity to escape at all.

Of course they didn’t believe him. _He_ wouldn’t have believed it if someone else had told him.

He ran a hand down his face, glancing at Ori in the aisle chair beside him, head lolled to the side, deep in a blissful looking sleep. Bilbo would have liked to sleep. He always envied Ori’s ability to nod off no matter where he was. He could fall asleep standing up. He’d told Bilbo once that his brothers had always used to call him the Sleep Walker, and Nori used to make up little superhero stories to entertain him as a kid. Their dad hadn’t been around much, a fact which he and Bilbo had bonded over instantly. The only difference was that Bilbo’s father was dead and Ori’s was just absent. Not that it made any difference- his father was just as dead to Ori as Bilbo’s was to him.

Bilbo sighed now, glancing out the window and at the clouds.

His relationship with Smaug reminded him a lot like a Taylor Swift song. Which was an amusing thought, he had to admit. He wasn’t a childish to announce anything of the such to anyone, but occasionally he did sing along with We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together on the radio, very loudly and out of tune. It made him feel better about the whole thing. But the difference between him and Taylor swift (apart from the obvious) was that his ex was a murdering psychopath. And generally you didn’t really want to get back together with someone like that. Not unless you too were a murdering psychopath. And last time he checked, Bilbo wasn’t.

Ori had asked him once why he even got involved with someone like Smaug in the first place.

To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why himself. It was probably a combination of things. He’d been so alone for so long and then all of a sudden someone else was there; looking after him and making him feel like he was part of something. And as it usually is with these things- Smaug had been charismatic and charming and perfect. He had such a passion about him you couldn’t help but get swept up in it. And so Bilbo had let himself get swept up. Bilbo had never really met anyone like him before, and once you met someone so individualistic, everyone else paled in comparison.  Compared to Smaug, the people he met seemed so dull and boring. And then he realised he hadn’t fallen in love with Smaug, not really. He fell in love with the idea of him. A romanticised concept of individuality and uniqueness, something he adored and craved to achieve for himself- it wasn’t love. It could perhaps be called obsession or fixation. An unhealthy absorption not in what he was but what he _was_. Perhaps that didn’t make any sense.

He didn’t love Smaug for what he was, like he should have, but instead he loved him for what he appeared to be.

There. That made more sense.

He couldn’t find a way to express it, though, not in a way Smaug would accept. He wasn’t even sure if Smaug really did love him back. It seemed more a power play, an attempt to control and gain ownership over. He didn’t think someone like Smaug could ever love. To give someone else the power to do anything to him? No. There was no way he’d ever allow that. Besides, as reverent as he was, Smaug always seemed more a machine than a human.

Bilbo didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help it. The last few years just played over and over in his head. He liked where he was at now. He liked the village, he liked his house, he liked his neighbours (even if they were a bit nosy). Gandalf even liked it, and Gandalf didn’t like much.

It was nice. He didn’t want to have to leave again, start over somewhere else only to have history repeat itself.

No. He could not do that anymore. This had to be sorted out now, and he was not going to roll over or run away with his tail between his legs. And this did not count as running off with his tail between his legs. This was a temporary measure to keep himself safe. And Gandalf. And Ori, he supposed, although he didn’t think Ori had been in danger anyway. And then there was Thorin and his nephews.

Bilbo looked over at them now, across the aisle. Thorin had a hand pressed to his face, obviously trying to ignore something Kili as laughing about now. Fili was just rolling his eyes. They were in trouble too, and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel responsible.

He hadn’t asked Smaug to attack Thorin, of course- to shoot him. But if he hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t of gotten involved with Smaug in the first place, then Thorin would have had his holiday in peace, and Smaug would have never come here to see Bilbo, recognise him, and decide it was open season on Royals.

He couldn’t help what had happened, though, so he was trying not to dwell on it. But, _Christ_ , what if the shot had been a bit higher up? What if he’d been his in the head, or the chest? What if an organ had been pierced and he’d bled out? Bilbo wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle being responsible for someone else _dying_. Not that he pulled the trigger himself, of course. And perhaps if he hadn’t of been there to pull Thorin to the floor, he might very well have died anyway.

So it wasn’t all bad. He wasn’t on his own, for one. Ori was here, and Gandalf… even if he was going to have to be put in quarantine when they arrived. God, he was going to _hate_ Bilbo when he finally got out. And Fili and Kili were… well, they weren’t _friends_ , but they were people he knew and liked, and he thought they liked him. At least, they didn’t hate him. To his knowledge anyway.

And he considered himself to be a friend of Thorin’s. A very strange friend, but a friend nonetheless. They weren’t completely trusting of each other, and Thorin had withheld information about who he was, and Bilbo withheld information about being in a terrorist organisation at one point in his life, and Thorin had been shot by Bilbo’s ex boyfriend, but no relationship is perfect, right?

 

 


	6. The Mountain

Erebor was… different to the way he’d imagined. In fact, Bilbo wasn’t sure what he’d imagined. He knew the place was quite small- a wee bit tinier than the size of Scotland, and he knew it was quite cold, being so far up north, but other than that he’d been left to his own imagination. He’d never seen a picture of the place, and it occurred to him, belatedly, that he probably could have Googled it, but that didn’t matter now.

Erebor was misty and green- heavy fog that hadn’t quite dissipated yet hanging in the air. In fact, it looked rather magical. They didn’t get off the plane when everybody else did. Instead, they were told to wait on the tarmac while someone got their bags.

“Well, I’ve never been given the star treatment before.” Ori muttered while they waited for Thorin’s guards to come along and pick them up. “I suppose he’s more likely to get noticed here, eh?”

Bilbo just shrugged before turning to Thorin who was watching Fili and Kili running rings around each other a few feet away. “Do you think he knows I came here with you?” he asked now.

Thorin answered immediately, not taking his eyes off of his nephews. “Yes. I’m certain of it.”

Bilbo wasn’t surprised. In fact, the statement was just verification of what his thoughts had been these past few hours.

“He’s a prepared man,” Thorin continued. “He’s obviously been watching for a while now, making sure he knows everything.”

“He likes watching,” Bilbo commented dryly. “Gives him a sense of control.” Like a predator watching its prey. “The bastard.”

Thorin snorted, amused. “You know, most exes just call multiple times. They don’t usually shoot potential competition for their partner.”

Bilbo felt a little flutter in his stomach at the idea of Thorin being potential competition for Smaug, but didn’t mention it. If he thought about it, there was no competition at all. He didn’t mention _that_ either.

“Well,” he said instead, taking a deep breath, “Smaug always did have a penchant for the dramatic.”

“Oh, my,” Ori breathed into Bilbo’s ear now. “Who is _that_?”

“Who?” Bilbo turned, looking in the same direction to find a beast of a man coming towards them. “Who is he? Mister Erebor 2002?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “His face isn’t as nice, believe me.”

The man heard that. “I’ll smack you upside the head,” he warned now, pointing at Thorin as he came to a stop in front of them. “King or no.”

Thorin laughed, and the man did as well, and each gave the other a slightly awkward but amiable pat on the shoulder. “You’re late,” Thorin informed him.

The man rolled his eyes. “Aye, aye, I am. But in my defence, I didn’t want to be here this early, so…” he shrugged before turning his gaze onto Bilbo and Ori. “You must be the terrorist then,” he said dryly, extending a hand. Though the smile was still there, and Thorin looked amused, so Bilbo decided not to take it harshly.

“You never denied being Mister Erebor 2002, you know,” he replied, taking the hand offered. It was tough and calloused and Bilbo winced at the strong grip.

“Nah,” the man said now, grinning. “Seems unfair for me to run. They’d all know they were going to lose.”

Bilbo laughed at him. “This,” he gestured at his friend, “is Ori.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Another terrorist?”

“I could be, if you piss me off enough.” Ori replied, hands over his chest.

The man burst into laughter. “This one’ll fit right in with the rabble. I’m Dwalin. I’m Thorin’s bodyguard.”

“Then you ought to get fired,” Fili announced, dragging his brother over to the group now. “He still got shot.”

“Well, I wasn’t there, was I? He insisted on going alone. Pity, though,” he mused now, looking wistful, “could have tackled him to the ground, saved his life and then made him give me jewels as repayment.”

“Well, the tackling part was taken care of.” Thorin replied dryly.

Dwalin guffawed, looking at Bilbo. “Really? Oh, that is _perfect_.” He slapped his thigh. “I’m telling everyone. By the end of the day the whole country’ll know that King Thorin was tackled by an English Mouse.” He turned on his heel. “Come on,” he called, “let’s get moving.”

“Mouse?” Bilbo asked as they followed him down the tarmac. “I think I should be offended.”

“Don’t worry, Bilbo!” Kili assured him, slipping on arm through Bilbo’s.

Fili mimicked the action on his other side, finishing his brother’s sentence. “Anyone who isn’t over six feet tall is a mouse to him.”

Bilbo just frowned at the back of Dwalin’s bald head.

 

* * *

 

It was nice to be home. When he was a child, he’d stand in the gardens and look up at the place and wonder if he’d ever think of it as his home. It always seemed too big to be considered a _home_. There were so many doors and windows and rooms and halls. Some places held terrible drafts and were uncomfortable to stand in, the floors and stairs creaked. It seemed more like a museum to him than somewhere he belonged. But as the outline of the castle began to loom in the distance, he felt an odd sort of relief.

Ori swore loudly when they reached the front gates. “I can’t believe I know someone who lives here.”

Bilbo said nothing, and Thorin looked over the passenger seat to check on him. He was just staring, looking up at the stone walls and the columns and the peaks. “It’s part of the mountain.” He said it more to himself than anyone else, but Thorin replied anyway.

“Durin, the first ruler of Erebor, loved the mountains so much that he build a palace within them.”

Ori shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Fili grinned now, “we are money.”

Thorin rolled his eyes.

Dis was waiting for them at the front door, glad to finally see her sons after so long of them being away. They complained in Khuzdul when she pulled them in for a hug, kissing their foreheads and straightening their clothes, fixing their tangled hair, but Thorin knew they secretly enjoyed it.

When the boys darted off to go and dump their things, Dis turned her attention to the rest of them, namely Bilbo.

She extended a hand, smiling pleasantly, though Thorin could see a curious light in her eyes. “You must be Bingo-” she began.

“Bilbo,” he didn’t look offended by the slip, just amused. Maybe even a little relieved at the warm welcome.

“I’m sorry,” Dis frowned now. “My English is ill. I never learn it well like my brothers.” She shrugged. “Swedish is my better skill.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Bilbo assured her now, “you sound just fine to me.” He stepped aside, waving for his friend to come closer. “This is Ori.”

“Ori,” Dis smiled, taking his hand. “Pleases to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Ori shook her hand, still glancing up at the roof. “One hell of a place you’ve got here.”

“Uh,” her brow furrowed now, and she looked at Thorin, “this is a compliment?” she wondered. Thorin nodded. “Ah,” she smiled again, her face clearing, “good.”

“ _Brother_!” This, of course, was shouted in Khuzdul, much to the others confusion.

Dis made a face. “I apologies in advance for Frerin.”

“For who?” Bilbo wondered.

Frerin came down the stairs now, boots loudly thumping on the wood. He looked more like a hobo than a member of the royal family, but that couldn’t be helped.

He took in Ori and Bilbo, looking them up and down. His look said enough, but as always, Frerin spoke anyway, declaring that they looked like librarians.

Dwalin laughed, but managed to mask it as a cough when Dis glowered, warning him to be polite and introduce himself. She gestured at their guests, who seemed a little confused.

Frerin grinned. “Hello.” His knowledge of English was just as limited as Dis’ was, mainly because he’d chosen to learn Spanish and then Japanese, but also partly because he was lazy and didn’t both paying attention to Balin’s language lessons. He offered a hand. “I am Frerin,” the words were stunted and staccato.

“Nice to meet you.”

Thorin leant in to explain when Bilbo received no reply. “He’s not very good at English, either. He can speak it, but he hates it.”

“I only just realise now how good your _own_ English is,” he replied.

Thorin shrugged. “Before I took over I spent a lot of time studying in England, North America, that sort of thing. I picked up the language better. The others chose to stay close to home.”

“Understandable. I suppose you also needed to be fluent though, being the next in line to rule.”

Bilbo was right. He’d had slightly more pressure put on him than the others when they were younger.

Frerin loudly interjected before Thorin could reply, asking what they were talking about. Well, there were a few more expletives in the sentence, but that was the gist of it.

“So…” Ori asked eventually, still looking at Frerin. “Who is he?”

“Frerin is our brother,” Thorin explained, although he was slightly loath to admit it.

Both Bilbo and Ori let out a seemingly perfectly timed _oh_.

“Should have guessed that,” Ori added. “I can see the resemblance now.”

“Well,” Dwalin clapped his hands together. “Let’s get you lot settled in.” He clapped his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “There’s a lot you need to look over now that you’re back.”

Thorin sighed and nodded, for once not all that eager to get back to work. He wanted to show Bilbo around, introduce him to all the nooks and crannies the house had. The little crawl space in the wall near his room that he used to hide in as a kid to avoid doing chores, the library, which contained probably almost every book ever written (even the crappy ones). He wasn’t sure where the urge to share this place with him came from, and maybe if he thought really hard about it, he’d actually realise how odd that was, or the fact that he’d never wanted to do that with anyone else before. But he didn’t think about it too hard. He didn’t have the time to right now.

“I’ll let Dis and Frerin look after you two, then. Actually-” he changed his mind now, “Frerin better come with me. Explain how he’s been running the country into the ground.”

Frerin grinned, understanding him perfectly, and followed him up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

To be honest, Bilbo was surprised they were so kind. After all, he was sure they knew. Dwalin had even greeted him as ‘The Terrorist’. He’d been expecting a cold welcome at the very minimum and was imagining at the very worst they’d kick him right back out, insisting he go home again. But he’d gotten the complete opposite.

After Thorin left with Dwalin and Frerin, Dis waved for them to follow her up the stairs, though turning left instead of right. The halls seemed to stretch on forever and were lined with very expensive looking paintings; many portraits of who Bilbo could only assume were ancestors and relatives. There were a lot of expensive looking things here, in fact. Vases, chandeliers, delicately carved furniture. It was a stark difference from his own IKEA stuffed home.

She took them through a cavernous ballroom, and then some other rooms to which Bilbo could only assume were sitting rooms, and after that down a long hallway, before finally coming to a stop in front of two doors side-by-side. “You stay here,” she informed them. “Closest to front of house.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure he could even find his way back on his own. He wondered how far away the furthest rooms were.

Ori didn’t seem to care much; however, instead he was pushing one door open to peer inside. “Bloody hell, what is this, the Hilton?”

Bilbo grinned, about to follow him in and get his fill of visual noise for the day, but Dis gently touched his arm, stopping him in the doorway.

“I hear about your story,” Dis told him when he turned to face her, her voice quiet. “Is very brave to do what you did.”

And that’s when he realised it.

They didn’t hate him, not at all. It was far worse than hating him. They _pitied_ him.

What a poor, naive thing, manipulated and taken advantage of like that.  

Poor Bilbo, naïve Bilbo: Bilbo the Victim.

It irked him.

He didn’t say anything, though, simply kept his silence with a tight smile until Dis waved him into the room. And it was spectacular.

It looked like something from out of a magazine all splendidly dressed up. The windows across the room opened up to a balcony that overlooked massive gardens to the side of the castle. If you leaned over the railings far enough and craned your neck to the side, you could see where the castle met the mountain and then burrowed deep underneath it.

“Wow,” he breathed. “I’ve never been anywhere like this before.”

“You’re telling me!” Ori was bouncing on the bed. “Do you think they’d notice if I took this home with me?”

Bilbo laughed at him. “I think they just maybe might, yes.”

“You would maybe like a tour?” Dis asked now from the doorway. “And food, yes?”

Bilbo’s stomach, as if realising the cue, grumbled loudly. “That sounds wonderful.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul will be in italics, I suppose.


	7. The Pervert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you catch any errors, feel free to tell me!

“To be honest I think Uncle Thorin’s a little smitten.” Fili said now, unpacking his bag.

“What?” Kili teased from where he was perched on the balcony across the room, legs swinging over the railing. He had his usual mischievous smile spread over his features “Jealous?”

Fili rolled his eyes and threw a pair of dirty socks at his brother. “Don’t be stupid. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, I like Bilbo, of course-”

“Everyone does.” Kili added.

“-but I know Uncle well, and I just know this isn’t going to end well. You remember that translator he started dating a few years back.”

“That he dumped on their four month anniversary, yes.”

“Or the gardener before that,” Fili continued.

“Who was fired by way of parting.”

“And then there was that party organiser that got so obsessed with him and when he told her he didn’t actually really like her all that much she got crazy and tried to brain him with that bronze statue in the library like something out of Cluedo.”

“But this seems different, though, right?” Kili looked slightly distressed now. “I mean, this is _Bilbo_. And back in England he actually went out of his way to spend time with him. He never really did that with any of the others. That has to mean something, right?”

Fili shrugged, still making a pained face. “I don’t know.”

Kili sighed. “Maybe they’ll just be friends. And if he doesn’t screw it up Bilbo can stay.”

“You really think he’ll stay?” Fili asked, one eyebrow raised. “I mean, I know he doesn’t have many ties back there, but that is his home.”

Kili looked dejected. “I’d like it if he stayed.” He said eventually, sullen.

“There’s no point worrying about it now, is there?” Fili asked now in an attempt to cheer him up. “We’ll just keep him happy while he’d here and see what happens. We can’t do anything else. You could show him the lake.”

Kili brightened marginally at the idea. “I can! And Ori can come too- he always says he’s looking for quiet spots where he can think about his stories.” He paused now. “Fili.”

Fili looked up from his bed where his clothes were now strewn. “Yes?”

“I like Bilbo.”

“So do I.”

“Even if he knows terrorists?”

Fili barked a laugh. “Yeah, even with that.” Even if that part was slightly unbelievable.

“He reminds me of dad.”

The words caused Fili to pause, staring up at his brother in shock.

Kili just shrugged. “He does.” He insisted. “He’s always going off on tangents, and he says the strangest things, and I remember dad used to go on for hours about little things that weren’t really significant in any way and when he did it everyone just _looked_ at him, you know. He was so… absorbing. You could watch him go on for hours and it’d go by in the blink of an eye. And he always made bread, do you remember?”

“Of course I do,” Fili managed. His throat felt tight now. Kili didn’t often mention their father, so when he did it was both unexpected and slightly affecting. “And he’d put silly things in it. Like apricot or chives or onion,” he wrinkled his nose, “when we just wanted the plain stuff.”

“I don’t know,” Kili mumbled now. “I just like him, you know? He’s always been nice, and he still is, even if he does seem a bit tense now. He’s kind of fatherly.” He grinned now. “I like Ori, too,” he added ruefully. “He says lots of really rude things.”

Fili rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“He said Dwalin looked like something from the cover of a sex novel, though I overheard that.”

“Oh, God,” he pressed a hand to his face. “Please don’t repeat that. I do not need that image in my head.”

Kili laughed, and the sound reverberated loudly through the room and out the windows, down to where the gardens were.

 

* * *

 

“You could just go and jump on him if you’re that desperate.” Bilbo informed Ori later that afternoon while they had tea. He’d been watching Ori fail at trying not to stare for too long at Dwalin across the room, and it was beginning to get far too amusing. But Bilbo knew Ori, and even if he was outspoken and rude and confident in Bilbo’s company, it didn’t exactly translate into other social situations. Ori was quite painfully shy, actually, though recently he’d hardly acted like it. He’d assaulted Thorin on Bilbo’s behalf like a good friend, which he was strangely proud about, and he’d snarkily sniped at Dwalin when they first met him, although that wasn’t _that_ out of character. Ori was very good at that. But otherwise he’d been almost completely silent around him, staring at his shoes or his hands.

Bilbo wasn’t sure it was the best choice. Ori wasn’t exactly great at picking them.

Dwalin seemed like a nice guy, but men like him tended to all be in the same range of douchebag which Ori had the habit of dating without realising it. Which, of course, resulted in one or two messy breakups, and one occasion of Bilbo showing up on a man’s doorstep with a baseball bat and threatening to break his legs if he went anywhere near Ori ever again. After all, what are friends for, right?

Bilbo threatens men with baseball bats for Ori, and Ori assaults royalty for Bilbo. Fair trade.

Ori rolled his eyes at Bilbo now. “I think if I jump on him he might think it’s an attack and break my neck with his bare- _but very nice hands_.”

“Pervert,” Bilbo commented now, taking a sip of his tea.

Dwain glanced their way now, causing the both of them to quickly look in opposite directions, which, when Bilbo thought about it, was a dead giveaway that they’d been staring. Nothing says ‘creepily watching you’ like suddenly becoming very interested in the roof or the carpet.

To make matters worse, Dwalin came over now.

“Oh no,” Ori squeaked, taking refuge in his tea.

“So,” Dwalin sat down across from them, “settling in well?”

“Uh,” Bilbo set his cup down, knowing that Ori was in no way going to be part of this conversation. Not unless he thought of something sarcastic to say, of course, which was his coping mechanism. “Yes. Thank you. Very well. I think we’ll need someone to guide us to the toilets if we need them, but apart from that…”

Dwalin laughed. “Aye. It is a large place. But you get used to it. Is he alright?” he pointed at Ori now. “He’s a bit red.”

“Oh, Ori’s fine.” Bilbo leant in to mutter to his friend. “Remember to breathe.”

Ori loudly inhaled suddenly, pulling away from the cup. “Sorry,” he said now, sounding a bit breathless. “I was just really enjoying my tea.” He set the cup down with a clatter and got to his feet. “I think I’m going to stand near the window for a moment.”

“You sure he’s alright?” Dwain wondered with a frown. “He seemed fine on the ride over.”

“Ori’s a bit shy,” Bilbo explained. “Usually he’s alright with it, but I think the travelling took it out of him.”

“Oh,” Dwalin looked surprised. “He was friendly enough before.”

“Small doses,” Bilbo answered simply. “Everyone has a limit of social interaction that they can cope with. Ori’s is quite small.”

Dwalin thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “Fair enough. Listen, would you mind talking later? About Smaug, I mean. We could use a bit of help.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll tell you every useful thing I can think of. And also all the useless stuff as well.”

Dwalin grinned. “Great,” he got to his feet. “I’d better go check on our King and make sure he isn’t strangling his younger brother,” he announced now. “Because believe me, the temptation is there.”

Ori came back soon after Dwalin left. “What did he say?”

“He was concerned with you. I told him you were shy.”

“You could have said something else, something impressive? Like I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue?”

“But you can’t do that.” Bilbo replied with a frown.

“Well, he doesn’t know that, does he?” Ori countered.

He laughed. “You are ridiculous.”

 

* * *

 

Balin was the only one who seemed to be suspicious of Bilbo. “ _You don’t think that perhaps it’s a bit convenient_?” he asked now. “ _A vulnerable man living next to you who’s just coincidentally involved with Smaug_?”

“ _It seems a bit farfetched, doesn’t it_?” Thorin wondered now. “ _I mean, he was there before I was, and before Fili and Kili arrived.”_

“ _Not to mention_ ,” Frerin went on, “ _that he did put Smaug in jail, which would tend to put a damper on most relationships_.”

Balin seemed slightly convinced by the argument, but not fully. “ _I’m just suggesting_ ,” he said now, “ _that we keep an eye on him. You can’t trust many people in a time like this. Especially not when that beast of a man is involved. His puppets are everywhere_.”

“ _I’m not a fool,_ ” there was no heat to his words. “ _But I wasn’t going to take the risk and leave him there. If he is innocent, which I believe he is, then he would have been in danger there. It’s best we keep him here regardless_ ,” he continued when Balin made more to speak. “ _How does that saying go? Keep your friends close but_ -”

“ _Your enemies so close it’s like you’re almost kissing them_?” Frerin suggested.

“ _What are you, five_?” he demanded.

Frerin just grinned.

“ _You haven’t…?_ ” Balin wondered now. “ _Have you_?”

“ _What_?” Thorin found himself frowning. “ _Do I look like an idiot_?”

“ _Do you want an honest answer to that_?” Dwalin asked from the doorway.

Frerin burst into laughter.

“ _I thought you were off ogling Bilbo’s little friend with the cardigan_?” Thorin snapped in reply.

“ _Oh_?” Balin asked, raising an eyebrow, suddenly instantly curious.

“ _I was not_.” Dwalin pouted, sounding infinitely childish. “ _I was talking to Bilbo_.”

“ _Ooh_!” Frerin sang, before wolf whistling loudly.

“ _Don’t be stupid. I was asking him about Smaug_.” He looked at his older brother. “ _He said it’s alright if you interrogate him later_.”

Balin nodded, looking pleased. “ _Good_.”

Frerin snorted now. “ _He hardly looks like the type to shack up with someone like Smaug_.”

“ _All the more reason to be cautious around him_ ,” Balin informed them all. “ _We can’t afford to be careless right now_.”

He didn’t need to say _that_ twice.

 

* * *

 

“I knew he was up to something when he showed up at my house and mentioned Duke- well, Thorin.”

“You can call him Duke, if you’d like.” Balin offered Bilbo a small smile. “He went through a phase as a child,” he began now, “he hated his name. Hated the royal connotation it had- so he insisted everyone call him Duke. His mother was the only adult who obliged. ”

Bilbo chuckled a little. “Cute.”

“When did your correspondence with Smaug begin?”

“I wouldn’t call it correspondence,” Bilbo said now, pulling a face. “It’s certainly a one-sided thing. No matter where I go, he somehow manages to find me. Then he starts sending letters, or notes, or in this case a rat nailed to my front door.” He sighed. “I got _that_ a few weeks ago. And then a note after that. And then he showed up in my kitchen the day Duke got shot.”

“And he just walked out the front door?”

Bilbo nodded. “I’m certain he snuck in the back, though, when he came in. He likes to pretend he has some mystery about him, but I know these things.” He pointed to himself now. “I know his tricks.”

“Do you know how many A.Z.O.G members are in Erebor at the moment?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Smaug told me a little about Erebor, but that was years ago, and we never talked about overseas operations. I realise now it was him hiding information from me about killings he’d been arranging.” He ran a hand through his hair now. “This is one hell of a mess.”

“Aye, it is.” Balin agreed. “But it’s not unsalvageable. What we know is that there’s a small militia-like group working for Smaug here in Erebor. They spy, they gather information, they send it back. We don’t know why but A.Z.O.G’s always been a stark opposition of the Durin family. Tell me more about his operations.”

“Back when I was there he had two second hand men. Bard- we called him the Bowman. He’s a terrific shot. Was a sniper in the army. He joined when he came back, said he had enough of the governments deciding who gets to kill who and where. He’s in charge of logistics. Then there’s Beorn. He’s in charge of the tactical side of things. He’s known as The Beast, you can imagine why. He recruits and goes out with the men when they have a task to do. He’s the most frightening man I’ve ever met.” Bilbo rolled his eyes now. “But once you get to know him, he’s not as scary as you’d imagine. He used to call me ‘Little Bunny’.”

“And they’re both still working for him now?” Balin asked him.

Bilbo gave a shrug, seemingly unsure. “I imagine they would be. They’re both very attached to the organisation. Everyone else is expendable. They’re recruits, like I was when I started, trying to work their way up the ranks.” He paused. “I’ve got no clue why Smaug’d specifically target you lot, though. I mean, he’s certainly not a royalist, but shooting at a King? That seems like a bit of a jump.”

“We think he’s responsible for a lot more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Balin paused, directing a considering glance at Bilbo. “A long while ago,” he began, “King Thrain and his wife Esmeralda were celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary. People lined the streets and celebrated and many came to the royal grounds. Thrain got up and started to make a speech, and then halfway through there was this…” Balin hesitated, looking for the right word to describe it, “ _phwiip_ sort of noise and he just hit the ground. Esme ran over to him, and then she was hit, too. The children saw it all. No one found the shooter.”

Bilbo had a hand pressed to his stomach. “Jesus,” he looked like he was going to be sick.

Balin often felt much the same when he remembered that day.

“He likes hurting people,” Bilbo said eventually, looking wistful. “I think it makes him feel like he has control.”

Balin would have said that Thorin was much like him in that aspect, wanting control, but it seemed like too much of an insult to compare him to Smaug.

“Did he hurt you?” Balin asked instead.

Bilbo blanched, but his face quickly cleared. Very clearly he wasn’t keen on sharing that sort of information. “He hurts a lot of people.”

Balin didn’t push. He just changed the subject, attempting to find out more about how Smaug’s organisation worked.

 

* * *

 

“Bored?”

Ori jumped at the sudden voice by his side. “Bloody hell,” he pressed a hand to his chest. “I, uh, I was just looking.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. _Nice work, Ori. Real smooth._

“I could give you a tour, if you’d like?” Dwalin offered now, gesturing out at the gardens.

“I’m allergic to Cockscomb,” he blurted now.

“Well…” Ori wasn’t sure Dwalin knew what Cockscomb was, “we just won’t touch the plants, then. How about it?”

“I, uh- well, alright.” What harm could a little walk do? Apart from sending him into anaphylactic shock and killing him, of course. “I like gardens.” He announced as they walked, before wincing. _I like gardens?_ He thought derisively now. _Really? Out of all the things you could have said…_

“Yeah, they’re alright,” Dwalin replied with a grin. “Never really knew much about them, though. That’s Bofur and Gloin’s area of expertise. Glon’s always running round here, snipping at bushes and trimming trees, little Gimli at his heels.”

“Gimli?”

“His son. And a budding horticulturist, more than likely.”

“Oh,” Ori smiled. “How sweet.”

He shrugged now. “You don’t think it’s sweet when you’re woken up at five in the morning by his screaming when they check on the vegetable garden. It’s right outside my window.”

Ori snorted. “That does seem…” he thought for a while about what word to say, “annoying.” He settled in eventually.

“That’s a mild word for it.” Dwalin replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

“I have to say,” Ori informed him now, “you’re English is very good.”

“Ah,” Dwalin shrugged, “my brother and I were taught when we were young- our family’s been involved with the Durin’s for as long as anyone can remember so the obligation is there. I spent a lot of time following Thorin around. He went to Oxford, and then spent some time at Brown in Rhode Island, but he had to drop out after his parents died so he could take over.”

“Oh, my. What happened to them?” This was the first Ori had heard of it.

“They were shot.”

“Shot?” He repeated, eyes widening. “Whoever by?”

“Terrorists. To be honest,” he leant in now to whisper, even though no one was around, and Ori ignored the little jump in his stomach at the proximity. “Most people think it was A.Z.O.G.”

Ori felt his mouth drop open. “ _No way_!”

“Yes way,” Dwalin assured him, and Ori had to repress a laugh at someone like Dwalin saying ‘yes, way!’ like a gossiping teenager. “There’s no proof- but Smaug had declared war on the family not months before. Their family used to be a part of the royal court forever ago.”

“They did?”

Dwalin nodded. “Yeah, they were second-hand men when the first Durin ruled. They had a falling out decades ago, though. Smaug’s grandfather Illian and Thror, Thorin’s grandfather. Illian’s wife ended up getting killed in fighting along with one of their sons and they blamed the Durin’s. They’ve hated each other ever since. I remember Smaug’s brother managed to get on stage during a festival and pulled a knife on Thrain. He got shot in the chest, but he managed to get a slash in before. Thrain had one nasty scar down his cheek after that.” Dwalin clicked his tongue. “Family wars.”

“Well, that seems incredibly dramatic of him.”

“Hate runs deep in that family, I tell you. I suppose it runs just as deep with us as well. ”

“What happened to Illian?”

“He lived. Probably pumped his spite into his children and grandchildren. I imagine A.Z.O.G had been his idea, even if Smaug did take credit for founding the organisation.”

“What a strange story,” Ori mused now, coming to a stop at a bench and taking a seat. “It’s all very sad.”

Dwalin took a seat beside him, stretching his long legs out. Ori pointedly kept his gaze on a shrub of hyacinths.

“I think that’s why they get along so well, you know. Your friend and Thorin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bilbo’s gone through a lot, too. And he knows firsthand Smaug’s hate and destruction.”

“He doesn’t mention it often.” Ori informed Dwalin. “I guess he doesn’t like thinking about it.” He wouldn’t like talking about it either. “I mean,” he said, grinning now. “I’ve had some exes, but I’ve never had anything like _that_ before.” And thank God for that.

At the look on Dwalin’s face, Ori knew he shouldn’t have shared that. Now he seemed like some sort of serial dater with baggage. Not that Dwalin would be interested anyway, but… still.

“Anyway,” he cut in quickly, eager to change the conversation. “How long have the gardens been here for?”

Dwalin relaxed slightly, before going on about the gardens being here a little while after the castle was finished being constructed, and how he didn’t really know much, and if Ori were to ask anyone, it should be his older brother, who knew everything about everything.

Ori mellowed slightly, enjoying the feel of company and the sound of conversation. That was it. It, of course, had nothing at all to do with the low, sonorous, soothing tones that came from Dwalin’s mouth. That was what he was telling himself anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Ori seems a bit OOC, I do apologise. In my head he’s very different around people he doesn’t know. So I imagine when he’s around Dwalin, he’s shy and doesn’t speak often, but with Bilbo he’s a lot more outspoken and confident and says things he thinks.


	8. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that Khuzdul is in italics.

“ _You are just too thin_.” Bombur announced in Khuzdul, setting the largest plate Thorin had ever seen on the table in front of Bilbo. It was stacked high with pancakes and sausages and eggs and toast and beans. “ _This’ll set you straight_.”

Bilbo frowned, looking from the plate, to Bombur, and then to Thorin. “What is he saying?”

“He said you’re too thin.” Thorin translated, holding back a smile. “Says once you eat this, you’ll be right.”

Bilbo laughed now. “Well, I don’t know if I can eat all of this,” he gestured at the plate. Thorin relayed the message to Bombur.

“ _You’ll eat it all_.” Bombur replied. “ _I’ll make sure you do_.”

“That sounds vaguely like a threat.” Bilbo mused once Thorin had informed him that Bombur had said, but he was smiling, so Thorin assumed he wasn’t too offended. “But I suppose I can try. I’d hate to upset the locals, after all.”

Bombur looked pleased when Bilbo dug in.

“ _He’s good._ ” Bombur informed Thorin soon after, flipping a new batch of pancakes for him. “ _The last few ones you got involved with were dreadful. But I’m got a good feeling about this one_.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “ _I am not ‘involved’ with him. I’ll thank you to not believe everything you hear from Dwalin and my brother._ ”

“ _I heard it from Balin, actually._ ”

“ _What_?” Thorin’s voice was flat.

“Well, this certainly looks like an interesting conversation,” Bilbo commented now, spooning up some beans.

“Just yet another reminder that everyone around me loves to gossip.” Thorin grumbled, picking up his coffee. “At least breakfast doesn’t talk back.”

Bilbo laughed at him. “Tell me,” he asked now, “do you lot ever dine in any of the big rooms?”

“Not really. Not unless we have major guests we want to impress. Most of the time we just get food here in the kitchen and take it wherever.” He’d usually have his in his study so he could continue working, but he wanted to make sure Bilbo and Ori were taken care of. Not that Ori was even up yet.

 _“He’s one of those people who can sleep almost all day and still want to stay in bed longer.”_ Bilbo had explained with an eye roll when Thorin had asked.

“So you never really eat together?” Bilbo wondered.

Thorin suddenly felt the inexplicable need to defend himself. “We’re all very busy,” he hurried to explain. “Usually when we want to catch up we’ll eat in one of the sitting rooms. But the house is so big we often don’t see each other all day.”

“Oh,” Bilbo sounded disappointed. “I suppose there are downsides to living in such a massive place.”

“Well, once you’re used to it, it doesn’t seem so big.” Thorin assured him. “And regardless of not eating together all that often, we do see each other. It’s not like we just stay on opposite sides of the castle all day. Although,” he added, “sometimes I do hide in the furthest rooms just to get some peace.”

“I guess it is the kind of job to leave you completely mad now and again.” Bilbo laughed. “That’s why you should take up a hobby. Like collecting stamps or building model planes. If you don’t have a hobby you can get terribly obsessed with work.”

Thorin was going to say something about already being obsessed with work, but the door opened suddenly and a very relived-looking Ori came inside.

“Ah, Ori,” Bilbo smiled at him. “Glad you found your way to the kitchens.”

“Yes, well, I almost didn’t. Thank God I ran into Dis or else I would have been wandering almost as long as Moses was.”

“Sorry,” Thorin was frowning now, “I should have made sure someone came and got you in the morning to make sure you could find your way around.”

“It’s fine,” Ori waved it off taking a seat. He cleared his throat loudly, looking up at Bombur. “Ah, baknd!” He turned to Thorin. “Was that right?”

“Yes, very good,” he replied, impressed.

“Where did you learn that?” Bilbo wanted to know.

“Dwalin taught me a few words.” Ori replied chirpily.

“Did he now?” Bilbo’s eyes twinkled with mischief and Ori reddened.

“Am I missing something?” Thorin wondered.

“No!” Ori announced before Bilbo could get a word in. “Nothing at all. Not in the slightest. _No, no, no_.” He slapped his hands down on the table, not-so-subtle in his attempt to change the subject. “I think I’d like a big breakfast today.”

Bilbo snorted. “I very much doubt you’d have gotten a small one anyway.”

Thorin finished his coffee while the two chatted, and eventually got to his feet after eating, heading to his study on the third floor.

“ _There’s been no movement from any A.Z.O.G members, as far as we can tell_.” Balin informed Thorin, meeting him at his study door. He followed Thorin inside and watched him sit down and begin to shift through his papers and turn on his computer. “ _And you have a 9:15 phone call about to come transferred_.”

Thorin sighed, reaching for the phone. “ _Thank you, Balin_.”

Instead of leaving, however, Balin stayed near the door. “ _So, how is Bilbo_?”

Thorin threw a pen at him.

 

* * *

 

Dwalin was certainly not stalking the guests. He wasn’t. He was just… checking up on them. There was nothing wrong with that was there? Besides, it was his job as security to make sure everything was alright. And Balin had said they should be cautious of Bilbo and Ori. Well… just Bilbo, really. But they sort of came as a dual package.

“Who you spying on?” Bofur certainly knew who he was spying on, mainly because he spoke very loudly, and in English. Though, thankfully enough, neither Ori nor Bilbo heard him.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he snapped in Khuzdul before sighing, resigned. “ _I am not spying. I’m just checking up_.”

Bofur rolled his eyes. “ _Sure you are_.” He peered at the two of them now. “ _So_ ,” Bofur mused now. “ _Which is the one everyone’s talking about_?”

“ _Bilbo_?” Dwalin asked. “ _He’s the one with the curly hair_.”

“ _And the one you fancy_?” Bofur asked as casually as he had the previous question, though a cheeky grin was beginning to form.

Dwalin answered without thinking. “ _Ori_.”

Bofur guffawed. “ _Nice work_ ,” he slapped Dwalin on the shoulder, not bothering to point out the red that was now staining his ears. “ _He’s not my type, but we all know you like the ones that look like kindergarten teachers_.”

“ _Shut up_.” Dwalin snapped again. They’d well and truly gotten the attention of the others now.

“Dwalin,” Bilbo called, and they made move to come over.

“ _Behave yourself_ ,” Dwalin ordered Bofur before turning to smile politely. “Morning.”

“Who’s your friend?” Ori wondered, regarding Bofur with curiosity.

“This is Bofur, I told you about him yesterday- he helps with the gardens.”

“I’m secondary horticulturalist.” Bofur corrected, sticking a hand out. “Nice to meet you.” He grinned, and both men seemed quite taken with him. Typical. Bofur was always better at making friends. He didn’t look like a bouncer at a club, or a prison guard. “Ori and Bilbo,” he glanced back at Dwalin for verification, “right?”

Dwalin gave a short nod. “Right.”

“You know, I’m really interested in those blue flowers over there, Bofur,” Bilbo sad now, pointing. “Would you mind showing me? Ori ought to stay here,” he added, before leaning in to explain to Bofur, “he’s got some allergies, you see.”

Ori reddened. “You make it sound like I’m an invalid.”

Bofur was grinning now. “It’s alright,” he assured them. “I’m sure Dwalin will take good care of Ori, won’t you?” he elbowed Dwalin in the side.

He didn’t dignify that with a reply. Neither did Ori, it seemed.

He cleared his throat. “So…” he began eventually. “How are you?”

“Oh, yes.” Ori shook his head. “I mean, _yes, I’m well_. You?”

Dwalin just nodded. “Fine. Just fine.”

“That’s good.”

“It is, yes.”

They fell into an awkward silence.

It was times like these that Dwalin wished he was as smooth talking as Balin had been when he was Dwalin’s age. Although Balin never used his talents, he was far more interested in academia to concentrate on that sort of thing.

Balin had been gifted with the golden tongue. Balin with the brains and Dwalin with the brawn.

“Any news on Smaug?” Ori wondered eventually, trying to make conversation.

“Ah, no, not really. I suppose we’re all just waiting for them to make the first move.” Nothing else they could do. “But I’ve got some people keeping an eye on the airports in case he shows up, so if he does decide to pay a visit to Erebor, we’ll know about it.”

“That’s a good idea.” Ori replied.

It had been Balin’s. All the good ideas were Balin’s. Dwalin heaved a sigh and tried not to think about it.

“Sleep well?” the words were regretted the minute they left his mouth. Ori in bed was _not_ an image he needed in his head right now.

But Ori was shrugging, looking a little sheepish. “I should have been able to sleep fine, but for some reason I just tossed and turned for ages before falling asleep. I mean, it’s such a big and lovely bed-” _Not thinking about it, not thinking about it_. “I’m not sure; maybe I’m just a little homesick.”

Dwalin wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Mister Dwalin,” the voice came from above them. They both looked up to find Kili leaning over one of the balconies on the second floor, looking down at them in the gardens. “Uncle Frerin’s gone into Balin’s phone and changed all his contact numbers to the old folks home on the edge of the city.”

Ori burst into paroxysms of laughter.

Dwalin sighed. “Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.” To wring Frerin’s neck.

“Does he do this often?” Ori wondered, managing to tamper down the laughter slightly.

“Two months ago he got into Thorin’s computer and send out a mass message to all the staff.”

Ori looked at him curiously. “What did it say?” he wanted to know.

Dwalin made a face. “You don’t want to know,” he informed him. “Right, well,” he took a step back, making move to leave, “I’ll see you… later.”

“Yes, later.” Neither one of them moved.

“ _Dwalin_!” Kili wailed from above them again.

“I’m coming!” he shouted up at the balcony. “God above you can’t a moment’s peace around here.”

Ori chuckled, putting his hands in his pocket. “Have fun with that.” Dwalin watched him walk over to Bilbo and Bofur.

“Well, that went well,” he grumbled to himself before turning on his heel. He was going to kill Frerin for the interruption.

 

* * *

 

“I swear I didn’t break it.” Bilbo insisted, watching Dwalin frown at the balcony door. “I just came in and it was broken.”

Dwalin considered the door. “Well, I don’t see any other damage, so we should be fine. It won’t shut properly, but no one can get up to this balcony anyway. Well,” he grinned now, “not unless they can scale the side of the castle. But I don’t think we have Jesse Bond on our hands.”

“James Bond.” Bilbo corrected with a smile.

“Right. Yes. James.” He paused, before adding. “I don’t really like action movies. In fact, I don’t like many movies at all. We’re always too busy to go anyway, so it sort of works out.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “What do you like to watch, then?”

Dwalin shrugged. “Documentaries.”

“Like what?” Ori wondered from where he was lounging on Bilbo’s bed. “Wait, does that mean you’ve never seen Die Hard?”

Dwalin heaved a sigh. “Frerin never shuts up about this either.”

“Oh, my God, you _haven’t_?” Ori sat up now. “How could you not-?!” A tap on the door cut him off.

“Uh, come in.” Bilbo called.

A short, roundish man with a long nose poked his head though the door.

“Phone call for Mister Baggins,” he informed them all, holding out a phone.

“For me?” Bilbo frowned. “No one knows I’m here.”

No one would call him regardless. Save for Ori, but Ori was here with him now, so obviously it wasn’t going to be him. He took the phone the man offered.

“Hello?” he asked as the man closed the door again.

“You left without saying goodbye,” there was a tutt-tutting noise on the other side. “That’s rude, you know.”

Bilbo felt his stomach drop. “Smaug.”

“ _Smaug_?!” Ori mouthed, eyes widening. He was on his feet now, at the edge of the bed.

Bilbo looked at Dwalin. “What do I do?” he mouthed. Dwain urged him to put the phone back to his ear. He set it on loudspeaker, holding it out in front of him. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Well, what I always want.” His slick voice echoed through the room. Ori made a face, as if to say: _that’s what he sounds like?_ Bilbo could almost see Smaug nonchalantly looking at his nails as he spoke. “Everything.”

“Very specific of you.” Bilbo returned dryly, and Smaug laughed.

“Or maybe I just wanted to see how you were settling in. Enjoying your holiday?”

“Well, I’m a country away from you so I have to say that yes, I am enjoying it.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure,” the words were teasing.

Bilbo immediately looked up at Dwalin. “You’re not in Erebor.”

Dwalin frowned, shaking his head. And if anyone would know, he would. Bilbo relaxed slightly.

“Perhaps not yet,” Smaug allowed. “But I have friends who are.”

Dwalin looked like he was going to say something, but Bilbo waved at him to keep him quiet.

“Oh, yes,” he began now, “I’m well aware that you have _friends_ here.” He kept his tone cheery, polite. “Why don’t you give me their names and numbers, I’d be glad to look them up, put them in jail.”

Ori smothered a snicker in his hand.

“Now, now,” Smaug chastised, “no need to be rude. You don’t want to make me angry, do you?”

All amusement left Ori’s face and Bilbo felt himself pale at the words. His voice didn’t waver, but his hands might have shook. “Maybe I do.”

“You think you’d have learnt your lesson by now. There’s only so much I’m willing to forgive you for. One day soon I might just give up on you altogether.”

“Well, I can only hope, right?” Bilbo retorted.

“So snappish tonight, aren’t you?” Smaug asked now. “Do we have an audience?”

“Does it matter?” he replied immediately, not bothering to answer.

Smaug paused for a moment, as if he were considering it. “No, I suppose not.” He said eventually. “Sleeping well, are we?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I disagree with you there. Your wellbeing is completely my business. Now tell me.”

The growled order flicked a switch in his brain, and he answered immediately. “I am.” He felt his shoulders sag.

Smaug seemed to relax. “Good.”

“Why are you doing this?” Bilbo asked now. “What are you up to?”

“Just finishing what my family started.”

“You don’t have to,” there was no point reasoning with him, but Bilbo couldn’t help it. “You’ll hurt a lot of innocent people-”

Dwalin looked like he was going to say something, but Smaug cut him off.

“Innocent?” Smaug scoffed. “Your naivety is touching. No one over there is _innocent_.”

His temper spiked in reaction. “Well, innocent or not, I like them a whole lot better than you.”

He could almost _hear_ Smaug roll his eyes. “Now you’re just being petty.”

“You’re a creep. I’m allowed to be petty. Don’t call me again.” He hit the disconnect button just as he could hear Smaug say: ‘ _Don’t you dare hang up on me_ ’.

Ori gently took the phone out of his grasp. “You’d better let go,” he informed him. “You might break it.” He hadn’t noticed until then how tightly he’d been holding it. His knuckles were white. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Bilbo inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.” Truth be told he was terrified, but that was nothing new.

“Was he like that all the time?” Dwalin asked, while Bilbo let Ori lead him to the bed to sit down. “When you were with him?”

“What, an arsehole? Yes.”

“Did he hit you?” Dwalin wanted to know.

Bilbo took his time answering. “Sometimes. It’s not… I don’t, uh,” he looked at his feet, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Thankfully, Dwalin let the subject drop.

“I’d better go tell Thorin and Balin about the call.” He said now. “I’ll let you two, uh… you know.” He waved a hand vaguely at them before moving towards the door.

Bilbo smiled weakly. “Thank you, Dwalin.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, almost forgot. Ori said 'baknd' which means 'morning'. Probably not used in the correct context but I'm too lazy to do it properly.


	9. The Victim

Thorin seemed to be quite popular this morning. It was only ten in the morning and he’d already had a number of visitors. Bilbo had popped in first, although, that had been at Thorin’s request. They had breakfast together.

_“You really do this every morning?” Bilbo had wondered, staring out the window. “Eat in a box room? Not that it’s not a nice box room,” he continued now. “It’s a very nice box room. Very pretty,” he gestured to the walls, hung with paintings and rows of books on shelves. “Just… you know, it’s still a box room.”_

Fili and Kili had come in next, in the middle of an important phone call, and had proceeded to shuffle through his papers and open and close his windows and move his things around in boredom until he kicked them out.

Dis had been in next. “ _We need to renovate the guest rooms in the west wing. There’s a leak in one of them and the others just look old and outdated._ ”

Thorin had reluctantly agreed, although he was loathe to spend money. Frerin always said he was a cheap bastard. Thorin supposed he was right.

Not that he’d admit it.

Dwalin came through the door at three past ten, not bothering to knock.

“ _Bifur just called_ ,” he announced, snagging Thorin’s attention immediately.

He straightened. “ _And_?” he prodded.

“And _, someone matching Smaug’s description’s gone through customs here under the name of Markus Mallahan_.”

Dwalin flicked onto Thorin’s email, where anew message from Bifur waited. He pulled the airport picture up.

“ _He’s got darker hair right now,_ ” Dwalin said,“ _but I’m sure that’s him._ ”

“ _Damn it_ ,” he growled, “ _alright, we need to_ -”

But the door opened again and Balin rushed in, looking rather breathless “ _I just got a call from the police_.”

They both looked up from the computer.

“ _The police_?” Dwalin looked alarmed. “ _What did we do now_?”

Balin rolled his eye at his brother. “ _The English police_.” He corrected.

“ _Ah_ ,” Dwalin slumped again, turning his attention back to the computer. “ _That’s not very interesting_.”

Thorin slapped his shoulder. “ _What did they want_?” he asked.

“ _They did a DNA test on the man in the jail_.”

“And let me guess,” Thorin sighed now, “it’s not Smaug?”

“Not in the least.” Well, there was no big shock there. “It’s a man called-”

“Markus Mallahan.” Dwalin finished.

Balin looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Because _Markus_ is visiting Erebor to see the sights,” Dwalin turned the screen of the computer around so Balin could see.

“Bugger,” Balin muttered.

“I’ll notify the police. We’ll get him now for using a fake passport and then we can deport him back to England and they can deal with him.”

Dwalin sighed. “Someone should tell Bilbo. Not that he’ll be surprised,” he mused now, “the phone call the day before last was hint enough that he was planning to come here.”

Yes, Thorin had heard plenty about that. And he was certainly not impressed with someone he was supposed to be looking after being harassed. Dwalin had told them both he was certain Bilbo wasn’t involved with him anymore.

_“You didn’t see his face,” he’d said, shaking his head. “There’s no way he could fake that. I think a lot more happened then he’s letting on.”_

Bilbo reacted well to the news.

“Ah,” his face was slightly ashen, “He said as much.” He sat down slowly now before looking back up at Thorin. “You don’t think he’ll try and shoot you again, do you?”

Thorin laughed now. “I bloody hope not.”

Bilbo relaxed a little at the joke, but he still looked remotely concerned.

Thorin sighed. “Look,” he sat down beside him now, attempting to offer some comfort. “This isn’t your fault, you know. None of it is.” Smaug would have continued his attack against Thorin’s family regardless- it had only been a coincidence that he’d caught sight of him in England. After all, Smaug had killed both his parents without inflection and Bilbo had nothing to do with that. He was more than capable of killing on his own, and there was no earthly reason why Bilbo ought to blame himself for this situation. Bilbo was as much of a victim in this as he was.

Bilbo gave a short laugh, though it held no mirth. “Kind of feels like it, though. Everywhere I go it seems this drama follows me.” He looked tired. In fact, he always looked tired.

He leant closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “Do you mind if I ask something?”

Bilbo gave a shrug. “If you’d like.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?”

For a moment Bilbo hesitated, before sighing loudly, his body slumping inwards, like his composure was crumbling away. “I, uh,” he paused for a long while before continuing, “I have nightmares sometimes.” He informed Thorin finally. “You know, they’re nothing really, but I- I wake up and I feel… _paralysed_.” He shrugged now. “They’re oddly debilitating. So I figure it’s easier to not sleep at all.”

“He won’t get near you, you know.” Thorin informed him. “We won’t allow it.”

Bilbo smiled now, and it seemed softer and genuine, albeit a little sad. “He has a way of worming into places whether you like it or not. Which I’m sure you’re already well aware of.”

“Believe me, I am.”

For a while they were silent until Bilbo after a few minutes, Bilbo spoke again. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For letting me stay here. For suggesting I come. I mean, I understand why the police didn’t believe me, but… you know. It’s nice to be somewhere I feel safe.”

Thorin felt a jolt of warm pleasure curl through his stomach at the thought of Bilbo feeling safe here. “Well,” he replied now, “castles usually are generally very well fortified.”

Bilbo laughed at him.

 

* * *

 

It had started off with small things. He’d get angry when Bilbo made a mistake, did something wrong. It was understandable. When it got worse, he told himself he should be thankful. Without him Bilbo would probably have been dead or in jail by the age of twenty. Smaug often said it as well.

_“You’ll do well to remember who got you here.” He’d snarl._

Bilbo was never quite sure what to say to that. He’d just sit there quietly, maybe holding his sore jaw, or trying to stem a nosebleed.

But he was not a victim, and he didn’t like the looks he got from people when they found out. Ori had taken it the best. He’d snarled and threatened to walk right into the jail and castrate the man, but he didn’t treat Bilbo like he was someone who’d been preyed upon. Someone who couldn’t handle himself.  He didn’t need protecting and he didn’t need to be fixed.

Of course, help was always welcome. Everyone needed help sometimes. But there was a difference. Support and comfort were starkly different to pity and overprotection.

Yes, he did have nightmares. Yes, he was slightly terrified. But if he’d learnt anything it was that just because he felt those things it didn’t mean he was weak. It didn’t mean he had to fall to those emotions. Everyone felt scared, it was just how you dealt with that fear.

And Bilbo was not someone who shied away from things like this. He did not roll over and allow things to happen.

The look Thorin had given him, the look of pity, had caused shame and embarrassment to curl through his gut. Looks like that made him feel weak, powerless.

He knew better than anyone that what he’d gone through made him a stronger person- it was part of who he was. But he couldn’t help feeling ashamed.

Smaug had a terrific ability to evoke those feelings, even now. He was like a ghost, hanging round and niggling at everything Bilbo did. He just hung on like shackles.

Saying something and believing it were two very different things, and Bilbo knew it would take a long while before he stopped feeling the shame. Before he stopped blaming himself for what happened, even.

He still flinched sometimes, when he dropped things, or bumped into someone. He remembered Smaug in the court room, just sitting there, watching Bilbo with those shrewd, narrow eyes, eliciting a cold, dreadful curl in his gut of fear and judgement and self-loathing all rolled in one. It was dreadful.

But he was not weak. He refused to be weak. Worst of all he didn’t like others thinking he was weak, even though he found that they generally did.

He supposed Ori took it the best because Ori had been in a few situations like it. Nothing as vile as what Smaug did, Ori had assured him, but he’d known controlling men- including the one Bilbo had taken the liberty of showing up on his doorstep and threatening him with a baseball bat. Ori understood.

And he was no longer letting Smaug hang around him like a ghost. No more. He would stand up to the bully once and for all and be _free_ of him once and for all. There was still a long way to go, but Bilbo knew that this was a big step in that direction.

Dwalin came in with the news a few hours later. “We’ve bloody lost him,” he announced.

Thorin looked up at hm. “You’re joking.”

“Great,” Bilbo groaned, putting his head in his hands. “You know, I bloody knew it. I told the police and they didn’t believe me when they had the chance, did they? No, of course not. I am not a loony,” he paused. “Well…” he added, “not in this case, anyway.”

Ori snickered.

“What can we do?” Thorin asked now, still serious.

“Keep an eye out. The police are working on it, checking out CCTV to see what taxi he took, which direction he went… we just have to wait.”

“Again.” Bilbo added sullenly.

“Well,” Ori said suddenly, “I can think of worse places to be stuck waiting.” He looked at Bilbo. “Right?”

Bilbo supposed that was true.

Thorin let out a sigh. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he murmured, checking his watch. He turned to Bilbo. “You’ll be alright?”

“Of course I will.” He was a little miffed at the idea that Thorin thought he needed looking after, but tried to remind himself that he was being nice, not condescending. “Go do your Kingly things.”

Thorin chuckled, getting to his feet with a groan. “Right. Let’s get back to it.” He and Dwalin left them alone in the room then.

“Do you feel awfully depressed all of a sudden?” Bilbo asked Ori, staring at the roof.

“A little, yeah,” Ori replied, heaving a sigh. “At this rate we won’t be home for a very long while.” He grinned. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. I said just last week I needed a holiday, and I got one. Although, a little less attempted murder and stalking would have been nice, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Bilbo laughed at him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: the Problem is that I have no plot.


	10. The Shooter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, just a reminder that I've put the Khuzdul conversation's in italics. Which, I have to admit, is a bit of a pain, but never mind.

“ _I had Balin get them to check out the other arrivals at the airport, and we got some hits on our potential threat list._ ”

Dwalin handed the list to Thorin now. It wasn’t all that long. One name shot out at him.

“Bardeon Williams?” he read, frowning. “ _I think Bilbo said something about a Bard to Balin_.”

“ _I figure we get him to look at the photos, see if he recognises any of them_.”

Thorin nodded. “ _Good idea_. _Get someone to call him up._ ”

It didn’t take long until there was a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in,” Thorin called, not raising his gaze from his computer.

Bilbo poked his head through the door. “You needed something?” he asked.

“Got a picture for you to look at,” Dwalin gestured for him to come in. “You heard of a guy named Williams? Bardeon Williams?”

Bilbo frowned. “That’s one hell of a name. But no.”

“You sure?” Dwalin asked.

He nodded. “I think I’d remember a name like that.”

“We think its Bard.” Thorin added, finally turning his attention to him. He was seated on the chair across the desk.

“Oh,” Bilbo rolled his eyes now, “well that makes sense. I just assumed it was some sort of joke.”

“What do you mean?” Dwalin handed the picture over, frowning.

“Well, Bard liked to write poetry. You know, Bard. Get it? A professional poet?”

“Oh,” Dwalin didn’t find it very amusing.

Bilbo just shrugged and turned his attention to the glossy picture he’d been handed. “That’s Bard alright.” Bilbo said immediately, still looking down. “Bard the Bowman. He’s a bit grey now, but I’d notice him anywhere.” He handed it back, glancing up at them. “He’s here? In Erebor?”

Thorin nodded. “He arrived two days ago,” he replied. “Do you want to look at the other names?”

Bilbo shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. We didn’t really do last names in the organisation, but I might recognise something.”

Dwalin handed the list over.

After a few moments of perusal, Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t know any of them.”

“No potential nicknames?” Dwalin suggested sarcastically, an eyebrow raised. But there was a smile playing on his lips, so there was no real heat to the words.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “No. Besides, Smaug wouldn’t bring the whole organisation over here. Just one or two men he trusted. Like I said, Bard’s a very good shot, so…”

“We’ll start looking for him as well.” Dwalin sighed, frowning down at the passport photo.

“How’s that CCTV thing going?” Bilbo wanted to know. “That seemed promising.”

It was a good idea. You couldn’t escape security cameras, no matter how hard you tried.

“We got a couple of possible hits,” Dwalin replied. “Balin’s out working with the police, checking them out.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to it, if that’s all? You must be very busy.”

Thorin was very busy, but he didn’t want to say so. He wanted Bilbo to stay and keep talking. The hum of his voice in the background was soothing and calmly in a rather alarming sort of way. He didn’t say anything, however, just let Bilbo leave quietly.

Dwalin made kissing noises.

“Hey,” he pointed at him now, still speaking English, “if we’re playing it like that I can go down and give Ori a ‘handwritten love letter’ from you.”

Dwalin’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I bloody would. Now instead of annoying me, go do something useful, would you? Or, if you’d like, you can take a break and go and pine.”

Dwalin left, grumbling something in Khuzdul about Thorin being a bastard.

 

* * *

 

“This seems like a dangerous idea, Smaug.” Bard said now, frowning at the idea. “It’s not safe at all, and there’s a high possibility that we’ll be caught and shoved in jail.” He wasn’t fond of that idea. Well, not that many people were fond of going to jail anyway, but that wasn’t the point. He’d killed a lot of people, and up until now he’d managed to stay under the radar. But this was a advantageous task, and if he pulled it off the rewards would be overwhelming, but if he failed he’d fall harder and further than he ever had before. He wasn’t prepared for failure.

And if he screwed up- if the police didn’t get him first, Smaug certainly would. And he’d leave nothing behind for the police to deal with. Bard knew this because he’d seen similar things happen before with others. No one pissed Smaug off and lived for very long. Well… there was one exception to that- Bilbo Baggins. Lovely Bilbo, who’d patched Bard up more times than he could remember, who’d coached Beorn with his anger issues, who’d yelled at Smaug more than once in front of everyone else, despite how many times he’d been knocked down by him before.

“I’m a fugitive,” Smaug replied eventually, throwing his arms wide. “If they find me I’ll be going back anyway, might as well do something useful with my time. This has been in the works for a very long time, Bard, and it’s about time it came to fruition.”

“But I missed my mark once,” he countered. That had been embarrassing. But Bilbo had been in the way and he hadn’t been prepared to shoot through one to get to the other. “And you usually don’t get to try assassinating a King twice. And involving Bilbo?” Bard shook his head. “It’s not right.” He’d liked Bilbo, despite the whole falling out thing. “He’s a good kid, you know that.”

“Not a kid anymore,” Smaug replied, still looking at the papers he had in his hands. Oh, Bard knew that very well. Smaug’s insidious attachment to him had been all but evident when they’d first met him as a teenager. “But he’s involved with Thorin,” there was a snarl in the words, “and if he wants to choose that side then that’s his decision. I’ve tried to convince him otherwise and he seems quite decided on the contrary.”

Bard wanted to say that if Bilbo liked him then he couldn’t be that bad of a guy, but then he remembered that Bilbo had liked Smaug, as well, at one point, and so he didn’t mention that.

“We did nail a rat to his door,” Bard reminded him now instead. “Most people don’t like that.”

“It was just a notification that we knew where he was.” The way he said it, one could have imagined they were talking about mailing a postcard.

“A letter wouldn’t have sufficed in its place?” Bard wondered.

“It was more than that; it was a message,” Smaug set his papers down. “Stronger than any letter would have done, than any word could have _said_.”

“A threat.” Bard finished.

Smaug looked pleased. “Exactly.”

He thought that it didn’t make sense, but Smaug had always been like that. One moment it was love ballads, the next it was bloody violence. He skipped from one emotion to another, as if he were a stone being skimmed over water.

Bard couldn’t help but think that there was a damn good reason Bilbo had switched sides. He sighed. “You want me to shoot a King in the head, I’ll do it.” He had no problem with that. “You know I’m loyal to your ideals. But I won’t hurt Bilbo.”

“I don’t think I could live in a world he wasn’t in.” Smaug said now, looking genuinely honest. “It’s an alarming and unhealthy thought, but it’s there nonetheless.”

“Then what do we do with him?” he queried, more to himself than to Smaug.

“I do pale at the idea of him being gone from this world,” Smaug insisted, “but I have to admit, if I can’t have him, I’m not sure if I can allow anybody else to.” He got to his feet. “We’ll deal with Bilbo after we’re done with Thorin. For now, concentrate on your mark. He’s often in his study, so that’s the best place to get him.”

Bard nodded, glancing down at the photos of the castle on the table. He’d get the bastard this time, like he’d been intending to back in England. Shoot him right through the head and disappear into a puff of smoke, leaving the police to wonder what the hell happened. At least, that was the plan anyway. He always knew it was best to have a contingency plan for these things.

He had to admit though, if push came to shove, he’d rather shoot Smaug than Bilbo. In fact, it sounded like he might actually have to.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think I could come here again?” Ori wondered. “After this is over and we’ve all gotten back to living normal lives.”

“Visit, you mean?” Dwalin asked, liking the sound of that idea. “Like on a holiday?”

Ori nodded. “Sure. I quite like it here, but then again- who doesn’t like a castle, right? I suppose it’s not as easy for you lot to come and visit us,” he went on now. “You know, what with running a county and protecting royalty and all that.”

“It’s not,” Dwalin agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll be welcome here anytime you wanted. You and Bilbo both.”

Ori looked pleased, which, in turn, pleased Dwalin. Pleased him so much, in fact, that he dared to lean down quickly and press a kiss to his cheek.

He pulled back just as quickly, staring intently at his face to gauge his reaction. For a while Ori just looked dumbfounded: eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Eventually, however, a bright red began to seep over his cheeks and nose. He spluttered a little, looking down at his feet.

Dwalin grinned. “I’d better get back to work,” he said now. “But I’ll see you at lunch.”

Ori looked up at him, still red in the face, and smiled. “Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Yes, okay.”

Dwalin almost walked into the door frame glancing back at him when he left. Ori didn’t say anything, though, mainly because he’d tripped up the stairs the other day when Dwalin smiled at him.

Thorin was asleep, leaning against the desk, when Dwalin found him upstairs. When he shut the door with a little more force than necessary, Thorin jolted, sitting up straight.

“Working,” he said, word slurring slightly.

“I can see that,” Dwalin replied dryly, deciding not to say anything about the fact that the first thing he said upon waking was in English rather than Khuzdul.

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “Must have fallen asleep for a minute there.”

“You should rest. And did take your-”

“Medication,” Thorin finished, irritated. “Yes, I did. And I don’t need to rest.”

“The fact that you were asleep when I came in says differently.”

Thorin sighed. “I’m just a little tired. It’s nothing. Do you mind getting me a coffee?”

Dwalin pulled the door open again, sighing as well. “Unfortunately that’s kind of my job,” he replied now. “I’m a glorified babysitter and servant.”

“Come now,” Thorin called after him, “people would kill to be the personal guard of a King.”

“Those people are in jail.” Dwalin called, heading towards the stairs. He thought he heard Thorin laugh, but that could have just been a snort.

He met Bilbo on the stairs. “Good morning, Mister Dwalin,” Bilbo smiled at him cheerily, and Dwalin found himself not for the first time marvelling at the man’s positivity. “How are you this morning?”

“Good,” he left out the part where he almost snogged Bilbo’s best friend. “Yours?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Oh, you know, can’t complain. Is it alright if I go and see Thorin?”

“Certainly,” Dwalin waved a hand theatrically back down the hall. “And pester him about his medication.” He added when Bilbo passed by.

He grinned. “Are you trying to get me not trouble, Mister Dwalin?” he teased now.

Dwalin snorted. “Him, more like.” He replied, before turning and heading down the stairs. He heard a light tap on the door and Bilbo asking if he could come in.

Thorin’s elated voice replied. “Of course.”

“Typical,” Dwalin rolled his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Did you take your medication?” Bilbo asked, leaning out the window.

Thorin regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Did Dwalin tell you to ask that?”

“He might have,” Bilbo shrugged, still looking out of the window. “Did you?”

“I did, yes. Like I do every morning now.”

“Well,” he grinned, turning to face him, “at least you know everyone cares enough to ask.” He leaned against the window frame. “Did you want me to let you get back to work now?”

“No, no, you don’t have to. It, uh…” he gestured down at the papers strewn over his desk. “It’s not all that important. Well, actually it is,” he amended, “but it’s nothing that can’t wait for a little while.”

“Thanks,” Bilbo walked over to the desk now, “Ori’s been mooning and sighing over Dwalin so I thought I’d leave him be.” He reached over and grabbed a pen from the table. “Do you do a lot of work on paper? I suppose the official looking stuff needs to be done on paper, just that I imagine nowadays you do a lot of work on the computers as well.”

“Sometimes you can’t help a little paper.” Thorin replied, giving a ‘what can do you’ sort of motion with his hands.

“Yes, well,” he twisted the pen in his hands, “I wouldn’t really know much about that.” It sounded deathly boring, but Bilbo wasn’t going to say that out loud. “I mean, I’ve never liked paperwork.”

“A necessary evil of the job, I’m afraid,” Thorin informed him with a smile.

Bilbo was going to reply, but his grip on the pen slipped while he was tapping it and it flicked forwards, skitting over the desk and on the ground near Thorin’s feet. Thorin bent down to grab it at almost the same instance something flew through the window at a high speed and slammed into the wall above his head.

“Oh, my God!”

“ _Shumûkh_!” Thorin yelled now, getting to his feet and quickly pulling Bilbo to the door. Almost immediately, three men were inside, and Thorin was ordering them something in Khuzdul.

“What the hell just happened?” Bilbo stared dumbly at the hole in the wall.

“My love for a view is being exploited.” Thorin replied dryly, just as Dwalin came through the door, sloshing coffee over himself.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“Shooter.” Thorin pointed at the window.

Dwalin swore, setting the cup down on the table and moving to the window.

“Is it safe for him to-” Bilbo began now, stepping forward.

Thorin grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “He’s fine. He’s not the target.”

“Shooters probably long gone by now anyway,” Dwalin was frowning at something outside. “From the angle I think it came from that way,” he pointed somewhere out there. “Must have been a long distance.”

Bilbo swallowed before answering. “Bard’s the best from long distances.”

Dwalin turned to look at him. “You think it was him?” he wanted to know.

“He’s in the country, isn’t he?" Bilbo shrugged. "Seems hardly like a coincidence.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed, running a hand over his chin. “It doesn’t.”

Bilbo hesitated before pulling out of Thorin’s grasp and moving to the window. “I was standing here not a minute before the shot went off.” He felt sick in his stomach.

“You think you were the target?” Dubiousness laced his tone.

Bilbo shook his head. “Bard would have shot me the moment he had a clean view if I was his mark. I must have been in the way of his view until I moved to the table.” He paused, thinking about Bard now. Down below guards were rushing about, leaving the premises. Up on a few buildings nearby he could see men searching the rooftops. “Do you think they’ll find him?”

“Probably not.” Thorin sighed. “Knowing my luck. I’d be a happy man if they did, but for now I’m just glad my head wasn’t split open.”

Bilbo looked at him now. “You could have been dead.”

“Thank God you’re a klutz and dropped the pen, right?” Thorin replied, amused.

Bilbo laughed, but it came out a little strangled. His hands were shaking. “I think I need to sit down…” he murmured now, running a hand over his face. He stumbled a little, and Dwalin caught his arm.

“Let’s get you downstairs,” He said, looking up at Thorin, who looked tired, but amused.

“ _Achùshomel_ ,” he murmured, more to himself, it seemed, than to Bilbo or Dwalin. “I think we’re going to need to put the castle on lockdown.”

“Definitely,” Dwalin said. “This needs to end soon.”

Bilbo couldn’t agree more.

 

 


	11. The Plan

Thorin was half asleep, dosing on the couch in one of the sitting rooms on the bottom floor when there was a small, hesitant knock on the door and a familiar mop of curls poked through the door to look at him. “Is it okay if I come in?” Bilbo asked sheepishly.

Thorin glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was well past midnight.

“Can’t sleep?” Thorin wondered, waving him in.

Bilbo closed the door behind him, shrugging. “Never can,” he gave a grin, but it held no mirth. He took a seat beside Thorin now, stretching his legs out. “What about you?”

Thorin took his time replying. “Just been one of those days, I think. Too much going on in my head for it to let me sleep.”

“I know that feeling. Dwalin’s nearby, you know.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the door. “Down the hall, watching this door like a hawk. Well,” he grinned, “he does doze off now and again, but he wakes up pretty quickly.”

Thorin clicked his tongue, sighing. “I told him to go to bed.”

“It’s his job to look after you,” Bilbo countered simply, “and after today I can see why he’d be a little on edge.”

Thorin knew he was right. Everyone was tense after this morning. Even Frerin -who was usually the light-hearted one of the family, even in traumatic circumstances- was sombre.

“Are you still thinking about it?” Thorin asked him, looking at him properly now, taking in every line on his face, every shadow.

Bilbo sighed loudly. “I just… It keeps replaying in my head. It was s _o_ close. If I hadn’t of picked up that pen-”

“No need to dwell on could haves,” Thorin replied gently. “You ought to be rewarded; you saved my life, no matter how unintentional it was.”

“So I am to be given jewels and gold and all that I desire?” Bilbo asked dryly, quirking an eyebrow.

“Anything you’d like.” Thorin returned, utterly serious.

“I’d like to go one week without someone I know trying to kill someone else. Attempted murder is… draining, I have to say.” He leaned back, further into the sofa, rubbing his eyes. “Is it like this for you all the time?”

“The excitement or the sleep deprivation?” he wondered. “In reply to both of those things though: yes.”

Bilbo chuckled.

“I never thought I’d meet royalty,” Bilbo mused now, looking thoughtful. “Even if I did, I never imagined them the way you lot are. You’re so…”

“Normal?”

“ _Not_ -normal,” Bilbo corrected. “Abnormal, strange, kooky people. Which is, in a way, it’s own kind of normal.  Every family is weird, right? I guess I just supposed royals families were different. You seem awfully different from afar. But really, I find that you’re just strange jerks, just the same as everyone else.”

“Jerks?” Thorin repeated, faking pain. “I have to say, that hurts. We’ve been nothing but kind to you and Ori since you arrived.”

Bilbo laughed at him. “Funny how you’re not arguing on the strange point.”

“Well, I already knew that. I suppose you were teasing me with the ‘jerk’ remark.”

“A little, yeah,” Bilbo relaxed again. “You can be dreadfully rude sometimes, though. And I get the feeling the lot of you don’t actually like many people at all.”

“We don’t,” Thorin assured him.

“I suppose that makes myself and Ori oddities?”

“You are a rare commodity to the Durin family.” Thorin agreed.

“Well, I think I’m rather flattered at that.” Bilbo was smiling now, before yawning. “I’m so dreadfully tired,” he announced through it, turning on his side so he could face Thorin properly. The movement brought him closer and their legs brushed. “I just can’t seem to get much sleep, though.” He stretched lethargically. “Even less so than I usually do, which is…” he frowned, “alarming.”

“Achùshomel,” Thorin sighed, pushing some hair from Bilbo’s face.

“You said that before,” Bilbo replied, eyes drooping closed in exhaustion. He relaxed back into the couch. “What does it mean?”

“Worry of all worries,” Thorin murmured quietly. “Sleep, Bilbo.”

“M’kay,” Bilbo exhaled slowly, body relaxing. “Thorin?”

“Yes, Bilbo?”

Bilbo kept his eyes closed, his breathing evening out a little. “Sorry for almost getting you shot.”

Thorin smiled. “Not your fault, Bilbo.”

“Should have seen it,” Bilbo replied sleepily. “Should have told you when I saw he’d come into the country.”

“You didn’t know he was going to try and shoot me through the study window.”

“Should have seen it,” he murmured again. “I should try and talk to them- draw them out.”

“That’s dangerous,” Thorin replied, watching as Bilbo shifted.

His eyes opened a little. “So is almost having your head blown off by a sniper.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he announced, trying to placate him. It seemed to do the trick for now.

Bilbo closed his eyes again. “I won’t forget.”

Thorin laughed quietly now. “I believe you.”

 

* * *

 

“No,” Thorin stated.

“ _Hell_ no,” Ori agreed.

Bilbo sighed, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s a good idea, you know it is. And it’ll put an end to this much quicker than if we do nothing at all.”

“Agreed,” Dwalin said now. “It’s a little risky, but if we can do this now then it’s over- done with. I think Bilbo’s right.”

“And what happens if he gets hurt, huh?” Ori demanded. “Shot or stabbed? These are dangerous people we’re talking about here.”

“Smaug would never hurt me,” Bilbo paused, “not if he thought he was getting his way, anyway.”

“I don’t like it.” Thorin told them all. “And if I don’t like it, it’s not happening.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to argue, but Ori cut him off.

“And how dare you suggest such a thing?!” he directed at Dwalin now. “You’re supposed to be a guard- keeping people safe. Putting someone in a situation where they’ll get shot, last time I checked, wasn’t in your job description.”

“Ori-”

 “You’d willingly let him put himself in danger!”

“Ori-”

“No.” Ori refused to look at him. “It is not happening.”

“It’s happening.” Bilbo said simply, chin raised in defiance.

“Over my dead body it is,” Thorin told him.

 

* * *

 

“So, I guess this makes you dead now, eh?” Bilbo asked, fiddling nervously with the sleeve of his shirt.

Thorin was clenching his jaw. “I don’t like this.”

Bilbo sighed. “You don’t have to. But the police will be nearby and so will Dwalin, and if anything goes wrong, I have the phone you gave me, so you can track the GPS… we don’t even know if he’s going to show up.”

“I still don’t like it.” He was behaving like a child, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. “If you get shot because of me-”

“It’s very unlikely,” Bilbo cut him off. “And even if I did get shot, then it’d be of my own doing, wouldn’t it? I’m the one who ratted him out. We just need to get him out in the open so the police can arrest him for escaping prison and the rest can come later. If we’re lucky, Bard will be with him as well. If we’re not lucky, he’ll be out of the country by the time Smaug even thinks of opening his mouth. Bard isn’t stupid.”

Thorin didn’t reply.

“Come on,” Bilbo nudged him now. “Help me put this wire on.”

Thorin begrudgingly obliged, although not just because he could get a peek at Bilbo underneath his shirt. But he had to admit, that was a strong selling point.

The plan was just to let Bilbo out into the city and see if Smaug came to him, which, Bilbo was certain he would. _“He can’t resist the opportunity,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. “He’s such a smug bastard I’m sure we can exploit that.”_

They’d keep a watch on him from afar, but if that failed, they’d track him. Thorin insisted on two GPS devices, because if he dropped the phone then they’d be screwed. So they’d attached one to the back of Bilbo’s watch, which he’d complained was uncomfortable and itchy, but frankly Thorin didn’t care.

“ _You need to relax_ ,” Balin informed him gently while Bilbo got ready. “ _The best way to step into these situations is with a cool head_.”

Thorin gave no reply.

“ _Just remember that Bilbo’s smart enough to handle this by himself._ ”

“ _He’s also terrified_ ,” Thorin shot back. There was no hiding it, he could tell. Bilbo had disappeared a few minutes ago, locking himself in one of the rooms. Ori coaxed him out after a little while, saying they needed to go over things once more, just to make sure they were all on the same page. When he’d come back out, he looked breathless, and he was wiping his eyes.

Balin gave a short nod, conceding to that. _“He is_. _But the lad has to do this himself_. _Let him get some closure._ ”

Thorin didn’t bother admitting to the logic of that.

 

 


	12. The Badass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any errors, just tell me and I'll fix them!

It was nice to be outside after so long. And not just in the gardens or behind a fence. He was _actually_ outside, wandering about the markets in the city, looking at stalls of food and cloth and trinkets. It made him feel a little better- calmer. His anxiety was there, of course, at the idea of seeing Smaug again, but there was nothing he could do about that. He just had to bite the bullet, breathe deeply and get on with it. He had to do what he had to do.

He knew there were people following him- watching him to see if Smaug made an appearance, but weirdly enough that didn’t make him feel any safer. He could feel other eyes on him, snake-like eyes, following his movements, filling his stomach with dread.

He had no doubt at all that Smaug would come to him. He was probably suspicious, what with Bilbo being inside for so long and then all of a sudden out on his own, like a juicy carrot being dangled in front of a horse.  It was suspicious. But Smaug was too proud and egotistical to let an opportunity like this pass by, if anyone were to know that it would be Bilbo.

People were all around him, shouting Khuzdul, haggling, arguing- he found it fascinating. The language was like growling rollings of the tongue, like some sort of combinations of German and Swedish. He wondered if he should try and learn after all was done, but he’d never been very good with languages, and honestly couldn’t see himself rolling the r’s and growling the uz’s and un’s the way the locals did.

He was peering over a stall of delicious looking strawberries when a heavy hand pressed against his lower back.

“Looking at the local produce, are we?”

He stiffened, straightening and looking over his shoulder to find Smaug.

“Why is it any of your business?” he kept his tone from wavering. “I’m on holiday.”

“With the scum of the Earth,” Smaug replied casually, one hand slipping down to wind his fingers around Bilbo’s wrist, “yes, I’m aware.”

“Slightly hypocritical statement there,” Bilbo managed, allowing himself to be tugged down the street. He wasn’t strong enough to pull out of the iron grip he was held in anyway, and he wasn’t about to make a scene. Smaug didn’t like scenes. He had to keep him distracted enough so that the others could get to him, which meant he had to play along for now.

“Where are you taking me?” he wanted to know.

Smaug’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you were being watched?” he demanded. Bilbo’s stomach dropped. “Thorin can send his guards after you all he wants but he’s not going to stop anything.”

Bilbo felt slightly relieved. He _didn’t_ know about the police officers, then. “And yet you still showed up,” he retorted dryly. “Of course I’m being watched. I didn’t feel comfortable going out by myself. Thorin would have sent Dwalin with me, but I insisted he was too noticeable.”

He felt Smaug reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. “I heard you left the premises. Why wouldn’t I show up?” he threw it into the nearest bin.

Bilbo shifted his gaze to his watch, deciding that Thorin was maybe just a bit of a genius. “Because maybe, _just maybe_ , I don’t want you following me around?” he suggested now.

“Don’t behave like a child,” the grip on his wrist tightened, and Bilbo winced. “I understand we have some issues, but that doesn’t mean we can’t act like adults.”

“So says the man carting me off to a dark alley.”

Smaug rolled his eyes. “There will be no dark alleys. I am doing this for your own good. You’re better off with me than them.”

“My own good?” Bilbo found himself scoffing. “I put you in prison, Smaug. _That_ was for my own good. Most people would just try to kill me now, instead of attempting to repair our screwed up relationship.” Well, actually- Smaug sometimes tried to do both. Bilbo squirmed in his grip, coming to a stop and turning to face him now, at the end of the road.

People passed them by, watching, but none came closer.

“You do not own me. I can go where I want I can do what I want and I don’t have to be with you. You’d think you’d get that after the whole _putting you in prison_ thing! I don’t want to be around you, or your friends, or your organisation. I want nothing to do with it. If you actually loved me, like you claim to every ten seconds, between threatening me, then you’d leave me the hell alone!” He finally managed to pull his arm from Smaug’s grasp, yanking it away. They stood there for a few seconds, both breathing heavily, staring at each other. Smaug’s hand twitched and Bilbo managed to not flinch in reply.

There was a yelling from further up the road, and Smaug looked over his shoulder to find the police running in their direction. He spun to look back at Bilbo, eyes furious, and grabbed him by the shirt front. “You little bastard,” he spat, shoving him backwards. “Move, _now_!” Bilbo obeyed, letting Smaug push him around the corner and down the pathway.

He tripped over himself, certain he skimmed a knee as well as a palm, but Smaug just yanked him back to his feet. Soon enough he was completely lost, being dragged through an alleyway, and then another, and then through a ratty looking door. Smaug slammed it behind him, dropping Bilbo face-first on the ground.

“You’re trying to get me in jail again?” he demanded, kicking Bilbo over onto his back.

He coughed. “The police already knew you were here- they would have found you anyway.”

Smaug’s face twisted into barely contained rage. “If you think for one minute that me going back is going to save you, you are sorely mistaken.” He raised his foot, stomping down on Bilbo’s stomach.

The wind rushed out of his lungs, pain rushing through his muscles. Black swirled around him with the pain, but he managed to stay conscious. The neck kick was aimed for his head, and it hit its mark, making his head snap backwards, smacking against the hard ground.

He covered his face, trying to curl into a ball to protect himself against the barrage.

“ _I will not go back_!”

“Tough lucks.”

The kicks stopped, and Bilbo looked through his fingers to find Smaug spinning to see who had snuck in behind hm. He hadn’t even fully turned round before Dis fist smacked into his face, sending him barrelling backwards and into the wall, blood gushing from his nose, lip split.

There was a lot of shouting after that, to which Dis called: “Here!” before kneeling down beside him. “Are you bad?” she asked, pressing her hands lightly against his stomach, as if to gauge his injuries.

Bilbo groaned in pain, struggling look up at her. “You are such a badass,” was all he could manage before passing out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of these last few chapters- I'll make sure the next one is longer.


	13. The Problems

Ori hadn’t moved since Bilbo had been set in his bed, Thorin insisting that it was better he be here in the castle rather than in some hospital in an uncomfortable bed. He’d been given the okay by the medical professionals, but that didn’t mean everyone felt better about it.

Dwalin watched him from the doorway.

He was watching Bilbo sleep on the bed. He’d fallen asleep once or twice in the chair he was in, but always jerked awake again after a few moments. He looked so frail and tired.

Dwalin felt his stomach tighten at the sight. They had not spoken since their argument over Bilbo's idea. And now- what with his misadventure... “Ori-” he began, deciding to finally set foot in the room.

Ori jerked, obviously not realising that Dwalin had been watching for some time. He was always watching. “He’s hurt because of you,” he announced sullenly, not turning to look at him. “We shouldn’t have let him go.”

Dwalin moved closer, hesitating before putting a hand on Ori’s shoulder. “He’s alright, Ori,” he returned gently. “He needed to do it.”

Ori sniffled, twisting so Dwalin’s hand fell off his shoulder. “He did not.” Despite his words, Dwalin was sure Ori knew and understood. Not that he was very happy about it-obviously.

Dwalin huffed a laugh, kneeling in front of him and cupping Ori’s face in his hands so he could no longer avoid looking at him. “Such a stubborn one,” he sighed fondly.

Ori’s eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and his hands were shaking slightly. “It’s alright,” Dwalin said, moving closer. “I’m sorry- it’s alright.” Ori’s lips were a bit dry and chapped, but Dwalin still delighted in the feel of them on his own mouth. Ori hummed into the kiss, hands reaching up and curling around the front of Dwalin’s shirt.

“You two aren’t going to have sex there, are you?” a weak voice cut in now, trying to joke. “Because that’s gross and not nice to your best friend ever at all.”

Ori pulled away, much to Dwalin’s misery. His face lit up. “Bilbo!”

As nice as it was that Bilbo was awake, Dwalin was more than a little lament at his timing. But those were things he could think about later. “How are you feeling?” he asked instead of sulking, which was what he really wanted to do.

“I’ve been better,” Bilbo shifted uncomfortably. His face and chest were blotchy with black, blue and yellowing bruises. Dwalin knew there were more down below his clothes, along with further injuries, but thankfully there was nothing too serious. “But I’ll get over it. Are you all alright?”

“Right as rain,” Dwalin replied.

“And Dis? She’s fine?”

“Oh, Dis is better than fine. She’s gloating to everyone that she found you before the guards and the police did.” Dwalin rolled his eyes. He'd burst into the room, more than ready to shoot at something (which he had to admit was a favourite past-time of his) to find Dis grinning triumphantly at him. She'd jerked her head to the corner of the room where Smaug had laid, unconscious, and still hadn't let him hear the end of it.

Bilbo grinned. “She was pretty awesome,” he agreed now.

Dwalin was going to tell him not to let _her_ hear that, but Ori cut in first.

“But _you_?” Ori asked, a little desperately. He had Dwalin’s hand in his own, clutching it tightly, but other than that gave no sign that he was paying attention to Dwalin at all. Which annoyed him to no extent. “How are _you_? I mean, more than physically.”

Bilbo considered it, before smiling and shrugging. And it seemed a real smile, too. He was tired, and looked to be in pain, but his happiness seemed genuine. “I think I’m okay, actually. I mean,” he shrugged now, “I think I’m probably going to have to go talk to someone- you know, a professional. But I think I’m ready for that. If you get what I mean.”

Ori looked placated by the answer. He even seemed a little happy himself. “Yes, yes I get what you mean.”

They fell silent for a few moments. In a way they reminded Dwalin of himself and Thorin. Inseparable, like a dual package. They didn’t have that trouble of explaining things to each other. They got it.

“We’ve got you a surprise,” he said now, a little roughly. He cleared a throat.

Bilbo looked suspicious. “A surprise?” he wondered. “What is it?”

Dwalin whistled, and Gandalf bolted into the room, tail wagging happily. He jumped on the bed and attacked Bilbo with kisses.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo was _delighted_.  “Thank you,” he was grinning at Dwalin now.

“Yeah, well, I can’t take the credit. Thorin said it’d be a good idea to get him for when you wake up.”

“ _Thorin_ thought of it?” Bilbo looked pleased. Really pleased.

 _Smooth move, Thorin_. Dwalin thought dryly, before turning his attention to Ori. “D’you mind if I spoke to Ori, uh… privately?”

Ori seemed a little unhappy at the suggestion, but after Bilbo nodded, he allowed himself to be tugged out of the room and into his own next door.

He pulled out of Dwalin’s grip once the door was closed and turned on him, hands on hips. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be like that,” Dwalin said now, moving closer. Ori didn’t flinch away, so he decided that was a good sign. “I did what I had to do, and Bilbo would have done it anyway. He _needed_ to.”

“I don’t care,” Ori declared stubbornly, stomping his foot. Dwalin laughed, which only served to make Ori angrier. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m serious. Why are you laughing at me?” he demanded.

“You are ridiculous.” Dwalin swooped down, catching his face in his hands, and kissed him into silence.

It was quite effective, he had to say.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was awake in bed when Thorin came to see him, propped up against some pillows, a book set carefully in his lap, Gandalf snoring at his feet.

He hadn’t noticed Thorin yet, so he cleared his throat to make his presence known. Bilbo jerked a little, wincing, before glancing up from his book. A wide smile stretched across his face, making warmth stretch across Thorin’s sternum and down his stomach. “Hello.”

“Hello,” his voice was gruffer than he’d intended it to be. He stepped forward a little, hesitating in a way that made him feel like he was five again and wondering if he could come into his parents’ room. “You don’t mind if I…?”

“No, no, of course,” Bilbo cheerily waved him in. “I wanted to thank you anyway. For Gandalf,” he goosed gently at the snoring dog with his toes. “He’s good company when he’s not keeping me awake with that noise,” he reached down, even though it very clearly caused him a far amount of pain, and scratched behind Gandalf’s ears.  Gandalf didn’t stir, but did stop snoring long enough to let out a quiet whine before snuggling deeper into his master’s touch.

Thorin smiled. “I thought he’d had enough troubles being stuck in quarantine so long- so I asked in a few favours and got him out as soon as possible.”

Bilbo looked pleased. “I’m sure once the excitement wares off he’ll start sulking and ignoring me as punishment. Thank you, though. I really appreciate it. In fact,” he grinned, “I think you might be his new favourite.”

Thorin liked the sound of that. He said as much.

“Of course you do,” Bilbo laughed at him. “I think out of the both of us it’s me who needs more love. You have the adoration of your people; you don’t need Gandalf as well.”

“Well, I’m sure if you give them the chance they’ll be more than happy to give your adoration to you as well.” The meaning of the words didn’t occur to him until they’d slipped out of his mouth.

Bilbo didn’t seem to mind, though. “I’m sure given time they’ll love me so much they realise their mistake with you and boot you out of power so I can rule instead.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I doubt you’re personality is that winning.”

Bilbo slapped his chest playfully, still grinning. “Cheeky,” he said now. “Shouldn’t you be out kissing babies or making politicians cry or something?”

“I didn’t think it would be best to go off so soon after…” he wasn’t sure how to put it. “I didn’t want to leave you… you know.” Thorin had never been very good with words, but usually he was better at stringing a sentence together than _this_. “You’re important to-” he made a face. “What I mean to say is that- I wanted to make sure you were… I- Well, that is-”

“Oh, you silly King,” Bilbo huffed, leaning forward and grabbing him by his shirtfront and pulling him in until their lips crashed together. Thorin was startled into freezing for a few moments, but quickly recovered his composure, leaning inwards to deepen the kiss. His arms snaked around Bilbo’s waist- gingerly, of course. He was hurt after all, and it would do no good for either of them if Thorin forgot _that_.

Bilbo jerked back suddenly, wincing in pain. “Sorry,” he pressed a hand gently to his stomach. “It pinches.”

Thorin felt his brow furrowed. “Well, we can’t have that.” He’d call for Oin to give him some painkillers. But first…

He leant in gently, pressing their lips together once more, pressing Bilbo carefully back into the pillows so he could get comfortable. Eventually, he had to relent, of course, because air was unfortunately a necessity if he wanted to continue living. He rested their foreheads together. “I shall go and get Oin now to give you something for the pain.”

Bilbo sighed, nodding. “I would argue, usually, about the attention. But I do think I need it.” His eyes drifted closed. “Did you find Bard?”

Thorin shook his head, even though Bilbo could not see it. “He’s either gotten out of the country or managed to make himself scarce.”

“He does have a talent for that,” Bilbo hummed. “But I don’t think he’s a threat. Not an immediate one, anyway. So long as Smaug’s incarcerated, that is…” his face twisted a little at the words.

“Are you well?” They both knew his question had nothing to do with his physical health.

“I'm… coping,” he answered finally. “Things like this do not fix themselves overnight, of course.” He added with a rueful smile. “But I feel… perhaps a bit better. I seem to have gained some sort of… _gumption_ these past few days.”

Thorin laughed at him. “Well, you’re going to need all the gumption you can get. My brother and sister are more than eager to burst through the door to harass you about your health. Not to mention my nephews… and then there’s Ori. You’ll be sick of human companionship by the end of the week, my dear Bilbo.”

Bilbo faked a shudder, giving a theatrical shudder. “The problems never do stop, do they?” he mused now, looking wistful, although Thorin knew he was teasing.

Thorin grinned. “They really don’t.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys have any prompt ideas for the next few chapters- leave a comment and I'll see if I can work them in! Also, if you see any errors, feel free to point them out and I'll get round to fixing them ASAP.


	14. The Bad Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Syxx and HMS_Shameless suggested some things so I put them into this chapter. Enjoy! And to Shannon, if you're reading this- there is more fluff to come, I promise! At least, I think it's fluff. I'd write more but I just heard an ice cream truck so I'm going to go and chase it like that guy from the Terminator.

No one really spoke about it. Fili supposed it was because they didn’t want to upset Bilbo, but he couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, he remained vigilant in his silence along with his brother. Not that they were silent all the time. “Did you see him?” Kili asked one night after Bilbo had flinched away from Thorin at the dinner table. It had been completely innocent, Thorin had reached over the grab the salt and Bilbo, noticing the movement from the corner of his eye, flinched. The reasons behind the reaction, however, were not so innocent. Kili was frowning as if his eyebrows could drain the anger from his body somehow. “Uncle Thorin would never-”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with Uncle Thorin, Kili.” Fili informed his brother gently. “Sometimes you can’t help it: it’s an automatic reaction.” To be honest, he’d been surprised. Well, who hadn’t been surprised? Mister Bilbo dating _Smaug_? It just didn’t seem right to him. He’d overheard Balin mentioning something about abuse to Dis a few days after Bilbo had first arrived.  Of course naturally the first thing he did was rush to tell Kili about it.

_“Bilbo?” Kili had asked, looking incredulous. “Really?”_

But it kind of made sense to Fili. Bilbo acted oddly sometimes, and not even in his usual way. It was… well, Fili had read a lot about post traumatic stress. He’d done a dissertation on it when he was studying psychology. He knew about it. And a lot of things had just clicked into place when he found out. Kili studied art. Not that he wasn’t as intelligent as Fili, he was. Just as much so, or maybe even more. He could see things in people Fili dreamed to be able to see. But he could be ridiculously oblivious at times.

Kili heaved a sigh, throwing himself back onto Fili’s bed, head hitting the pillows. “I want to talk to him about it. Make sure he knows that- you know, that it’s not his fault. And that if I got Smaug alone I’d cut off his-”

“I’m sure Bilbo already knows that,” Fili cut him off. Kili was all rainbows and happy endings. He thought that if he could say something at the right time then everything could be alright again. “And I’m sure he’d appreciate the offer of violence. But you remember what Balin told you about saying things to people without thinking.”

“A Prince does not do that,” Kili recited, pouting like a child. He threw his arms up in exasperation. “I can’t do anything!”

Fili chuckled at him. “Why don’t we do something nice for him instead to show him that we’re thinking about him?”

Kili glanced over at his brother from the bed. “Like what?” he wondered, still sullen.

“Like…” Fili scrunched his face up, thinking about it now, “like a tour! Yes, let’s give him a tour of Erebor, now that it’s safe. A proper one. We’ll show him all the nooks and crannies and the places the tourists don’t know about. We’ll give him a tour of _our_ Erebor.”

“We’ll have to take Ori, too,” Kili announced, sitting up. He seemed pleased with the idea. “I’d feel dreadful just taking one of them and leaving the other behind. Although-” he grinned now. “I think Ori might be a little too busy swooning over Mister Dwalin.”

Fili rolled his eyes, even if the words were true. “It’s settled then. We’ll give Bilbo a tour.”

“Not just any tour,” Kili replied, “but _our_ kind of tour.”

“I feel the need to remind you, Kili, that Bilbo will need to go somewhere other than the pubs you frequent. I’m sure he can hold his liquor,” Fili continued when Kili opened his mouth to argue, “but I think he needs a little more than a… a pub crawl. Not that we can’t drink.”

“Good,” Kili breathed out in relief, crawling over to the edge of the bed and looping his fingers through the belt-holes in Fili’s jeans. “I don’t want to do a tour without drinking.”

“You don’t want to do anything without drinking,” Fili grumbled, but allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed.

 

* * *

 

Okay, so maybe a tour wasn’t the best idea they’ve ever had. It was five in the afternoon and they’d had so much to drink they could barely walk straight. Kili was leaning against a wall, laughing at nothing in particular. Fili had gotten into a punch-up in The Blue Stag, resulting in a split lip, a rapidly swelling eye and a bloody nose. In his defence, the guy had been hitting on Bilbo for far too long, and it _was_ his obligation as nephew to the King to look after the King’s… well, consort. Partner? _Lover_? It doesn’t matter- the point still stands.

Needless to say they were a bit of a mess. So naturally Fili had called Dwalin. Who was not impressed to be dragged away from his Ori-time. _So_ unhappy, it seemed, that he brought Thorin with him… who was not happy either. Obviously.

He took one look at Fili’s bloody face, to Kili, who was a slobbering mess, and then to Bilbo, who had actually fallen asleep at the bar, and sighed loudly. “Really?” he’d asked, though Fili wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical or not. He’d just kept his mouth shut while Thorin slung one of Bilbo’s arms over his shoulders and helped him sleepily walk to the car. Bilbo mumbled something and leant heavily against his shoulder, but Thorin didn’t seem to mind. Nor did he seem to mind the curious spectators watching from the other side of the bar.

Fili stumbled out after them, grabbing his brother by the arm and dragging him along behind him. All things considered, it could have gone worse.

Thorin made Ori go with them the next day to make sure the tour was actually sightseeing and not a day-long binge like yesterday had been.

Ori loved the forges, or maybe he just liked looking at the smiths and their sweaty bodies, which (Fili had to admit) were quite a sight. Bilbo had blushed, pointedly ignoring the others while they openly ogled.

Fili sent a message to Dwalin almost immediately after they’d finished looking their fill, informing him that maybe he had a little bit of competition with Ori when it came to the smiths and their lovely, soot-covered arms. He laughed along with Kili at the thought of Dwalin having a coronary at the message.

What was even funnier than that was the fact that Ori’s phone started ringing incessantly not five minutes after the text had been sent.

Bilbo shot the boys a scolding look while Ori tried to placate Dwalin, assuring him that he did not, in fact, run off with a smith with very nice arms. Kili had the grace to look a little sheepish, but Fili didn’t even pretend, he just dragged Bilbo off to the river, leaving Kili to amble about and wait for Ori.

“I like this,” Bilbo sighed with a smile as they looked out at the murky water. He leant against the railing, looking down at the lapping water below.

“Do you think you like it so much you might think about staying here?”

“What?” Bilbo wondered. “In Erebor?”

Fili just nodded.

“Well,” he smiled. “It seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? Standing up to Smaug because I was sick of having to uproot my life when he showed up, and then when it’s all over just moving again!” He laughed. “I don’t know, Fili.” He said honestly after a moment, composing himself. “I like it here. I do. But I just… I like my shoddy little house back in England. All my pictures cramped on the walls, the scratches on the floor from where Gandalf gets anxious when the mailman comes round.” He smiled softly. “Besides, aren’t you coming back with me? You have a house there, too, if you’ll remember.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean me,” Fili said now, “I meant… well, Uncle Thorin.”

“Ah,” he was silent for some time.

“Well?” Fili wondered after a minute or two, slightly impatient.

“What? This isn’t some romance novel, Fili. I’m not going to move into your Uncle’s palace just because we- because he- Well, you get the point.” He was blushing now, bright red sweeping over his cheeks. “I mean, I’ll visit, of course, as often as I can. But I’m not going to rush things. And I don’t think Thorin wants to rush things either.”

Fili guessed that sounded logical. And it wasn’t the end of the world… not quite, anyway.

“Uncle Thorin’s not really good with… Well, he’s not very good at handling relationships. But, he really likes you. Like _really_.” Bilbo reddened further, but Fili continued instead of mentioning it. “He never really liked any of the others he tried it with. I think he just wanted to work, you know?”

Bilbo nodded.

“But he actually _wants_ to spend time with you. So that’s good. I just thought I’d warn you that he has a habit of screwing things up, so don’t go too hard on him. Don’t let him get away with anything, by all means,” he rushed on, trying to explain himself, “just… you know, go easy on him.”

Bilbo smiled at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw something that didn't make sense just tell me and I'll try to fix it up.


	15. The Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff?

Dwalin frowned, looking down from the landing of the second floor to the first floor where Ori was laughing at something Kili said. Kili looked eager to please; grinning and standing far too close for Dwalin’s liking. He knew that smirk, and he knew Kili.

Objectively, he knew they were doing this to tease him, to irk and annoy him until he made some blunder of his own and embarrassed himself. But that didn’t stop him from falling for it. He knew Ori wasn’t the kind to go off with someone else- but he also knew there was really nothing he could do about his obstinate jealousy.

“ _You could always just run down there and flick him over your shoulder_ ,” Frerin grinned now, much like his nephew, and leant against the railing beside him. “ _Carry him off like a caveman_.” There was a pause. And then, “ _Balin wants to meet Ori._ Officially _, as your new squeeze_.” In other words he wanted to frighten the poor lad. “ _Maybe you should just marry him_.”

“ _Marry him_ ,” Dwalin scoffed, “ _he hardly knows me_. _And I hardly know him._ ”

“ _That doesn’t stop thousands of people around the world, does it_? _Look at Vegas; it’s the paradigm of snap weddings_.” Frerin looked like he was considering something. “ _That and herpes_ ,” he added, grin widening.

Dwalin rolled his eyes. “ _Don’t you have something you should be doing_?”

Frerin sighed and pushed himself back onto his feet fully, heading for the stairs. “ _You should go down there_ ,” Frerin told him over his shoulder. “ _You’re pining so loud we can all hear it from the third floor-_ ” He would have said more, probably, if Gandalf hadn’t of darted between his legs and bowled him over, making him slip down the first flight of stairs and land (rather ungracefully) on his bottom on the landing.

Kili looked up from where he was with Ori, and burst into a fit of laughter at the sight. Ori pressed a hand to his mouth, clearly trying to politely repress laughter. Dwalin openly cackled from the second floor, catching his attention.

“Are you alright, Mister Frerin?” Ori climbed the stairs and knelt down beside him on the landing. His shirt lifted up a little, revealing a thing line of skin underneath, and Dwalin may or may not have craned his neck to get a better view.

“Fine, fine,” Frerin waved him off, getting to his feet. “Fine.”

“Do you not know much English, Mister Frerin?” Ori wondered, cocking his head to the side.

“I knows enough,” was the reply, along with a patented Durin frown.

Ori’s lips twitched at that, and he tilted his head politely. “Of course. Excuse me, Mister Frerin,” he climbed the last of the stairs that led to the second floor, beaming at Dwalin when he saw him.

“Hello, Dwalin.”

“Ori,” he replied gruffly. When he came closer, Dwalin reached out, snaking an arm around his waist. “C’mere,” he dragged him closer so they were pressed flush against each other. Ori coloured.

“ _Dwalin_ ,” he whined as Dwalin leant down to bite lightly at his neck, “people can see us.”

“Let ‘em,” was his intelligent and well-thought out reply. To his defence, though, he was more than a little distracted.

Ori giggled at the sensation of his stubble grating up against the sensitive skin of his neck. He pressed his hands flat against Dwalin’s chest and pushed him away a little so they could look at each other. “ _Later_ ,” he insisted, leaning up and kissing him softly. And then he was gone, going back down the stairs to where Kili was, asking if he could be shown to the library once more, where Bilbo was nosing about this morning.

Dwalin sighed and watched them go. It was going to be a long and rather frustrating day.

 

* * *

 

Thorin saw Bilbo again that night. Not like the other nights, though, when he was injured and slightly high on drugs, or completely drunk like he had been the other day (not that Bilbo remembered that much about it, if he was honest). No, he was completely sober and in his own mind this night… which was probably why Thorin ended up crushing him against his pillows, spending the last half an hour getting tangled in his sheets and well acquainted with his mouth. Not that Thorin wasn’t already well-acquainted with Bilbo’s mouth, of course- he was. It was very much the opposite. But there was no harm in double checking, was there? Of course not.

Things were going spectacularly well, if he said so himself. At least, they had been. But all of a sudden, he’d panicked, thoughts of Smaug flooding back into his mind. Not that this was like any situation he’d found himself in with Smaug.

No, Smaug didn’t spend time lavishing kisses or gentle nips. Smaug didn’t let his tongue chart Bilbo’s moles the way Thorin’s did. With Smaug it was hard and quick and ruthless and more than a little painful. He knew that wasn’t normal, the way it was with others. He _knew_ that.

But he couldn’t help it. Thorin’s hand had snaked upwards, under his shirt, and Bilbo had just reacted.

He pulled away like he’d been scalded, choking all of a sudden, desperate to get air back into his lungs while Thorin watched him, frozen.

For a while they sat there in silence, Bilbo shakily gasping, clutching at himself, until he finally managed to calm down. His heart rate slowed, and his eyes cleared of tears, and the burning in his lungs ceased. He inhaled deeply. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Thorin looked at him carefully as he spoke. “If you’re not ready, we can-”

“No, it’s not- I mean, it kind of is. But it’s not you,” he added hurriedly, grabbing hold of Thorin’s hand. “It’s just…”

Thorin patiently waited for an answer, looking calmer than Bilbo had ever seen him. “Go ahead,” he urged gently.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Smaug,” the word didn’t taste right on his tongue. It never did. “He- he, uh…” The words were thick, heavy, like molten lead, and they burnt his tongue on the way out. “He used to do that. When… as punishment. Sometimes if I did something wrong, he’d- It was punishment.”

Thorin’s face had turned stony and unreadable throughout the explanation, and he was clutching the sheets in his fists, knuckles white from the tightness of grip.

Bilbo closed his eyes, bracing for it. This was it. This was the moment where Thorin told him he didn’t want Bilbo anymore. But instead of harsh words and insults, he felt a warm hand curl around his cheek and he opened his eyes to find Thorin looking at him in pain. He rested their foreheads together.

“We can wait,” he breathed out now. “There’s no need to rush things. No need at all.”

Bilbo felt his whole body relax. Of course. Thorin wasn’t like Smaug. He knew that.

He leaned forward, almost like he was toppling over, and buried his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck, letting warm arms wrap around him and rock him gently. “It’s okay,” Thorin spoke softly, nuzzling into his hair. “It’s okay.”

And, surprisingly enough, Bilbo did something he rarely ever did with anyone. He believed him.

 

* * *

 

“You ought to come and see me in September when you’re in England, doing your diplomatic thing.” Bilbo hummed the night before he left for England. Thorin was plastered against his back, head pressed into the nape of his neck, his warm breath flooding from his nose and across Bilbo’s skin, which was more calming than annoying, like it used to be with Smaug.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose.

Comparing the two of them was not going to turn out well. _That_ was a habit he had to stop right now. Thorin was nothing like Smaug. Thorin made him feel safe and warm and secure. Smaug was… well, _Smaug_.

“I was planning on it anyway,” was Thorin’s gruff reply, heavy with sleep. “I cannot stay for long, though. Perhaps a day, if I can stretch it.”

“You could always send Fili and Kili to Brighton as emissaries instead,” Bilbo suggested brightly. “If they don’t set anything on fire, I think it’d be a wonderful experience for them.”

Thorin groaned. “Don’t say that.”

Bilbo laughed. “Well, it’s inevitable, isn’t it? One of them will be King one day.” He laughed even more, squirming in Thorin’s arms so he could turn and face him. “Can you _imagine_ that? King Fili or King Kili?”

“Please,” the noise Thorin made was eerily similar to a whine. But Thorin didn’t whine. Oh no, _not possible_. “Not Kili,” he beseeched. “He’d make a National Pancake Day and enforce a law stating attractive people must wear tight clothing at all times.”

“That sounds like a good idea, actually…” Bilbo mused now, earning a playful jostle from Thorin. “I suppose I don’t need that, do I? You already do that anyway.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed and a sweet, confused look came over his face. “What do you mean?” he demanded, much like a child.

“Oh, come now,” Bilbo teased, “you _must_ know how tight those jeans you love to wear are. And your damn shirts,” he plucked at the one Thorin was wearing now. “Your clothes are sinfully tight.” There was no heat to the words though, just fondness and a rather satisfied tone.

“Do my clothing choices please you, little one?” Thorin hummed, leaning down to bite gently at Bilbo’s neck. He arched up into the delicious pluck of pain. Thorin paused briefly, to say: “I am glad” before leaning back down to suck a (probably very large) hickey on Bilbo’s shoulder.

He didn’t mind.

Smaug used to mark him, but not like this. For him it was about showing ownership, some ugly possessiveness he held over Bilbo. Certainly, Thorin seemed possessive, too, but not unhealthily so. More so, Bilbo _liked_ the idea of having a mark on his neck that Thorin put there. He liked the way it felt, during and after it was put there. He liked the way people’s eyes fell on it. He’d never felt like that with Smaug.

This felt natural, _healthy_. Something Bilbo had never actually had before.

It was nice.

 

 


	16. The First

It had been three months since they last saw each other.

They called, of course, and flicked emails to each other constantly. Hell, they even _Skyped_ , though Thorin found a strong distaste for it, and _not_ just because he had no idea how to work the damn thing, despite what Frerin said to the contrary.

But that wasn’t the same as seeing him in person.

Bilbo was splendorous. He came to the door in his tatty pyjamas with a heavy jumper over top, a mug of tea in one hand, his hair gloriously ruffled from sleep. Thorin delighted in the pretty ‘o’ that his mouth formed in shock, and the widening of his eyes in realisation. He also enjoyed the red that spread across his cheeks and the rapturous smile that spread across his face. “Thorin!” he looked like he was going to throw himself at him, if not for the cup in his hand.

Thorin snatched it off of him and pushed inside, setting it on the table near the door. He swooped down quickly, pressing their lips together. “I only have seven hours,” he mumbled into Bilbo’s mouth, hands slipping up underneath his pyjama shirt, rough fingers running over soft, warm skin.

Bilbo hummed into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. “I’m guessing we’re not going to spend seven hours playing Jenga then, are we?” he asked teasingly, tugging Thorin in the direction of the stairs.

Gandalf gave them a look that can only be described as disparaging when they fell down on the bed beside him. He huffed, ears flattening, before jumping onto the ground and padding out of the room. Thorin choked back a laugh and instead concentrated on unbuttoning the last of Bilbo’s shirt, finishing the work he’d started when they began to climb the stairs.

“Are you sure about this?” the words were hard to get out, especially so when his mouth was preoccupied with the task of biting at the flesh just above Bilbo’s right nipple.

“Are you kidding me?” Bilbo scoffed, working at Thorin’s belt. “You’re not going to be able to walk when I’m done with you. Not that you’ll want to walk when we’ve got a perfectly good bed here,” he bounced a little on the mattress, as if providing proof for that statement. “But that’s not the point.”

“What is your point?” Thorin wondered in a bit of a daze, enraptured by Bilbo’s fingers, unbuttoning his jeans.

“My _point_ is…” he paused for a moment, before huffing loudly, “oh, screw it. I don’t know what my point is.” He leant up and captured Thorin’s mouth again, and that line of conversation was effectively finished.

Thorin didn’t really mind.

 

* * *

 

Once they’d finished their fervent undressing of each other, Bilbo allowed himself to be pushed back against the pillows, Thorin’s mouth eagerly licking and kissing and biting a trail down his neck and chest, leaving slight scratches from his stubble in his wake. He spent a fair amount of time devoted to sucking a quick, neat little row of hickeys just below Bilbo’s navel, and then further down, on the insides of his thighs.

He glanced up once his work was done, as if trying to gauge what Bilbo wanted. “You alright?”

Bilbo looked at him with alarm. “Don’t stop!”

Thorin chuckled, warm breath hitting Bilbo’s stomach. “If you wish it, it shall be done.”  He bit lightly at the skin at his hips, tugging at it with his teeth. Bilbo gasped in surprise, fingers curing into his hair.

Thorin’s mouth went a little lower, then, his tongue licking a stripe down Bilbo’s cock. He jerked in surprise, making Thorin pause once more.

“Are you-?”

“What are you, trying to make me whine?” Bilbo demanded, urging him to continue.

Thorin seemed pleased enough with that answer, because he went straight back down, and Bilbo’s gaze blackened at the feeling of a hot mouth enveloping him.

“ _Oh_.” His fingers tightened in Thorin’s hair, probably to a painful extent, but Thorin just made a humming noise and swallowed him deeper.

He gazed up at the ceiling in shock, barely able to do much more than moan, ridiculously loud and high-pitched. He would have felt embarrassed, if he could _remember_ how to be embarrassed. His mind had officially melted and decided to shut down.

“Oh, oh, stop!” his hands slid down, taking hold of Thorin’s face, and he pulled him up.

“Not good?” Thorin had a furrow to his brow.

“No, no. I mean- _yes_. Wait.” He shook his head, trying to remember what words were. “That was… _very_ good. Better than that, I just… Well, if you did that any longer-”

“Understood,” Thorin was smirking.

“Besides,” he huffed now, “I want to… you know,” he slid his hands down Thorin’s chest and to his stomach. “It’s your turn now.”

“Oh?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Bilbo (with an assertiveness that was rather surprising to the both of them), put his hands firmly on Thorin’s chest and pushed him over onto his back. “Is this, uh, okay?” he asked, feeling a small flicker of shyness spread through his chest as he settled between Thorin’s legs.

Thorin nodded, seemingly oblivious to Bilbo’s dubiousness. “God, yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Bilbo grinned, all previous doubts fleeing him, and leant down to kiss him quickly. “I’ve never really…”

“It’s okay,” Thorin assured him quickly, shifting his legs further apart. “We’ll go slow.”

Bilbo was okay with slow. He could do that. He leaned over, opening the drawer to his bedside table and pulling out lube and condoms. Thorin raised an eyebrow at him. “What?” Bilbo asked innocently. “I wanted to be prepared.”

Thorin grinned at him. “I love a well organized man.”

“I’m like a Boy Scout,” Bilbo cheerily replies. “If you’d like to know I also have an extensive knowledge about tying knots with rope.”

“We’ll get to _that_ later.”

Bilbo, feeling a little bit drunk all of a sudden, giggled while opening the bottle of lube with shaking fingers. “Are you sure?” he asked again, slicking his fingers. “I know some people don’t… like it.” _Want it_.

Thorin just shook his head. “All good,” he informed him. “All yours.”

Bilbo liked the sound of that. He carefully watched Thorin’s face, however, when he slipped one finger inside, just to be sure. But he didn’t see pain or discomfort or dislike. He quickly added a second finger, quite liking the groan the movement elicited.  He crooked both fingers now and Thorin arched in reply.

He liked _that_ , too. He said as much.

Thorin just groaned. “Smug bastard.”

Bilbo laughed, cautiously adding a third finger and moving once more to find that spot Thorin seemed to like so much. He watched in delight when his mouth fell open wordlessly and he made something that could be only described as a high keening sort of noise. “This is fun,” Bilbo told him now, pulling his fingers out slowly.

Thorin positively _whined_ with the loss. “Tease,” he huffed. His pupils were blown with pleasure and his hair was messed. His mouth was red from kissing and biting and all sorts of other things. He looked a mess. Bilbo _loved_ it.

“Can I…?” he gestured vaguely, and Thorin just nodded, seemingly unable to formulate words at the moment, much like Bilbo’s troubles before.

He shifted so he was pressed flush against Thorin, and slowly lined himself up. “If you don’t like it… if I do something wrong-”

“Doubtful,” Thorin returned, smiling now, “but I promise I will tell you.”

Bilbo felt himself relax a little.

Feeling a little braver, he reached down, hand curling around Thorin’s cock before slowly sliding in.

Thorin’s hips bucked slightly, arching up into Bilbo’s hand.

“Good?” he wondered, pausing.

Thorin gave another quick nod. “Good. Now move _please_.”

Bilbo did as was requested, slowly moving so he could get used to the sensation. He’d always been very good with control. These past few years, it’d been all he’d had to hang on to. He couldn’t control the mess unfurling about him, but he _could_ control himself and his reactions to things. Not that he wanted to at this very moment.

He was certainly in favour of the whole losing control and falling into madness thing right now.

_Very_ much so.

Soon enough his movements became quick and jerking, sharp, punctuating rolls of his hips, because there was _no way_ either of them had the patience right now for _slow_.

It didn’t take very long, which would have been embarrassing, had Thorin not been shouting hoarsely at the same time. He half-collapsed on top of him, biting at the hard skin that stretched around Thorin’s shoulder, sucking his own mark into his skin. Afterwards, he pulled back a little to look proudly at his handiwork. “So,” he hummed, pulling away and rolling onto his side, “seven hours, huh?”

Thorin grinned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. I might add more later- you know, round some stuff off that I missed, or if you fancy me writing another chapter with something you want in it, just tell me and I can add it or whatever. But it just seemed like a nice place to end it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, some notes! Duke comes from the DU in Durin, the K in King and he E in Erebor. Also, Gandalf the Greyhound. I may or may not have laughed for a long time at that one. And with the AZOG thing, I am sorry that the name is so tacky. I couldn't really think of anything that would fit.  
> And, as always, if you see any errors please point them out so I can fix them, thanks!


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